A Song Of Ice And Fire: Honor Of A House
by Jiro Uchiha
Summary: The ancient man sighed. "We must do what our honor binds us to do." he said. Vasili shrugged. "What does our honor entitle us to do?" he asked. The ancient woman laughed a lyrical laugh. "Why, we take back Winterfell." Set during ADWD, but if Joffery survived the poisoning, and Theon kept Winterfell.
1. Chomokh

_Time for another new fic. Sorry if it seems a little overboard. I changed the timeline a little, so bear with me. Thank you for the continued support, __**JIRO**_

A cold winter had set over Westeros, and a dangerously cold one at that. Sitting at a table dining on salted meat, the current Lord of Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy, heard footsteps approaching. The doors of the dining hall came flying open, and an ironborn soldier, smiling a filthy smile, teeth missing in places, chuckled. "Yer crazy sister is trying to kill the old man." he said, referring to Maester Luwin. Theon frowned. His sister, Yara, had arrived last night with the five hundred men he had requested. Theon stood, discarding the meat in front of him.

"Why?" he asked, irritated. He laughed. "She wants him to open some chest, and he says he can't." he stated. Theon cursed, and set out to find his sister. Walking through the halls of Winterfell, he knew exactly where she was. He thrusted the door to Eddard Stark's former office open. She held Maester Luwin against the wall, an axe pressed against his old, wrinkled throat. Theon called out. "Enough! He speaks the truth! I have lived here for half my life, and none in Winterfell have the key to open that chest but Ned Stark!" he called, pointing to the chest.

The chest was white, made of weirwood, showing it's importance. A heavy lock was upon it, and it required a key of impressive proportions. She looked to him over her shoulder, not removing the axe from the elderly Maester's throat. She smiled and chuckled, slightly unnerving Theon. "Oh really? And where would that key be now?" she asked, and Theon frowned. "He most likely had it on him when he perished. And besides, none but Ned Stark know what's even in that blasted case." he said. She frowned, removing the sharp blade from the wrinkled throat of Maester Luwin. She walked over to the chest, examining it's lock.

She swung her axe down, cleaving the lock from the chest. Shoving the lock away, she opened the chest to find sheets of parchment. She growled. "Theon, make yourself useful and read this." she said. Theon frowned, but complied. Walking over, he read the document in front of him.

"This document hereby states that the lands surrounding Barrowtown shall be given to Jon Snow when he comes of age. In the event the House known as Dustin becomes extinct, Jon Snow is to become Lord of Barrowtown itself. When this does happen, he will be legitimized as Jon Stark, so he may become Lord of Winterfell if need be." he said, placing the paper down, and grabbing a second one. "This second document states that the lands of Jon Snow are to be cared for and protected by House Phunraz. In the unlikely event House Phunraz becomes extinct, the lands will be sold back to House Dustin, and still be Jon Snow's inheritance." he said, and looked to his sister. They both looked at the stamp at the bottom of the parchment, seeing an odd house sigil. It was a field of green, and had a small dire wolf pup looking up, underneath a snarling cat, massive, powerful, golden and striped with white, black, and darker golds. The cat also possessed a slight mane, much like a lion. Theon looked to his sister.

"What house is this?" she asked. Theon frowned. "I have no idea. Possibly the house spoken of in the documents?" he said. She looked to him incredilously. "Is that a fucking statement or a question?" she asked. He set his jaw, grinding his teeth. She rolled her eyes, turning to one of the ironborn in the room. "You. Take a hundred and fifty men and claim those lands. Tell them we control Winterfell and if they resist, kill them all." she said, and the filthy soldier smiled, nodded, and set out.

Standing likely around the same height of Breinne the Beautiful, and bronze skinned, with long, braided dark brown hair, was Shango Phunraz. He wore a pair of leather trousers, and a light leather shirt. He wore no shoes, and was ankle deep in snow. He was roasting a quite large boar on a spit, and had no worries whatsoever. His mother, a Dothraki woman named Sundari, stood next to him. He felt something in the ground, his impressive sense of touch picking up on horses and riders. His mother, being a Dothraki woman, could tell there were horses coming, and just couldn't pinpoint how many. "How many are there? A hundred?" she asked, her accent thick. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly. The unusual orbs conveyed knowledge of the number of riders.

"No. One hundred and fifty." he said. She nodded. "I'll go get your siblings and father." she said, and he nodded. She walked off, and he continued to turn the boar and season it. He had a pitchfork to hold the boar still on one hip, and a large, slightly curved butcher's knife to carve it on his other hip. He whistled, feeling the riders come through the open gates. They circled the property, their foul odor carrying throughout the lands. Shango frowned, but ignored them. His eyes shifted to the small cottage they lived in, where he knew his sisters would be. His brothers would be here with him, and his father would be as well. Humming, he ignored the ironborn man screaming of something pertaining to the Greyjoys.

"You! Surrender these lands now! It's useless to resist, you serve the Greyjoys now! THe Starks are nearly extinct! We killed the little shits and their mongrels, and we hear The Freys took care of Robb and his mutt." he said, and Shango frowned. He knew the things he was saying, but the first thing irritated him. If they killed Bran and Rickon, they would be harshly dealt with. He continued to ignore them, wanting to finish his boar. The scent was soothing, and would soon be ruined. The man frowned, and continued to frown. "What's wrong? Can't speak? No wonder. Some petty Lord likely took your tongue out for speaking out. That'll teach you to listen to your superiors." he said, laughing.

Shango was becoming increasingly irritated. He looked to the cottage, then the stables, and finally to the forest. The man leapt from his steed, and walked up to Shango. "Aye! I'm talking to ye. You should listen when someone talks to ye!" he said. Shango turned, looking at the man. He clamped his filthy mouth shut, shocked at the sheer size of the being in front of him. He was larger than most men, but was in possession of catlike features, giving him a youthful look. He possessed eyes of ice, white scelera surrounding a freezing ice blue, and large pupils of midnight black. The man looked to his forces, who seemed weary as well.

Shango hummed. "You Achlarat. A foul one at that." he said, his voice gravelly. The man frowned. "What did you say to me?" he yelled, drawing the sword on his hip. Shango hummed, then saw another man hop from the saddle and close in, sword in hand. Shango pursed his lips, then moved with force. Drawing the pitchfork from his hip, he slammed it into the face of the ironborn warrior, through the eyes and into the brain. He was killed instantly, and Shango pulled the pitchfork out. He turned, slitting the throat of the other man not on horseback. He stumbled back, shocked at the speed Shango possessed. Shango ducked under the blade of a rider, and jabbed upwards with the pitchfork, burying it to the hilt in the skull of a horse. The animal fell and the rider stumbled off, finished quickly with a knife to the throat.

A second rider came from behind, but a huge, heavy arrow made of metal flew through the air and buried itself in his chest, flinging him from his horse. Two more riders who were side by side came at Shango, but a golden blur came by. With dark blonde hair and deep brown eyes, and smaller than his older brother, Haakon Phunraz grabbed the strap on the chest of the horses and pushed, roaring. The horses came off all fours, and were pushed over. The armored riders were crushed under their horses, and Shango laughed as arrows pelted the riders from afar. Shango looked to the top of the cottage, where his three sisters, Manoush, Katerina and Cilka rained brutish arrows down upon their foes. Shango deepened his voice and let out a call, and the stable doors exploded open.

Two horses came out, thick, powerful Dothraki warhorses. On top of one was his mother, who threw him an Arakh, the Dothraki sickle blade. She wielded her own, and cleaved the head from a ironborn soldier who fell from his horse. On the second was his second brother, and Haakon's twin, Vasili. The bronze skinned, black haired warrior wielded his own Arakh, as they all did. Another head was cleaved. Five footsoldiers came at Shango, who leapt forward with his sickle in hand.

He ducked under the swing of an axe, rolling around and burying the point of the sickle in the side of his foe. He ripped it out, tearing a large chunk of his flesh away, forcing him to his knees. He swung the sickle, colliding with the blade of a second soldier, his force cleaving the other blade in half. The shock allowed an arrow to pierce his chest and force him to the ground. Stomping the corpse, he thrust his bare foot into the chest of the third, making him stumble into a fourth, where another arrow pierced the both of them, like a shishkabob. Using the inside of the sickle's blade, he came down, cleaving the fifth man in half. Rolling around the corpse, he continued to the fray.

A handle of black came up into a small blade, only inches long. It split into two, much like an axe. The side closer to the weilder went into a small axe like blade, less than a foot long. The other side was the more devastating side. It was heavy and massive, and curved like what we call a katana. It was orange , but the sharper than dragonglass edge was silver, and wavy. Wavy in such a way that it looked like Valyrian Steel, and as thick as the branch of a weirwood tree. This was what Reek, truly Ramsay Bolton in disguise, before Maynhard Phunraz cleaved him in three, saw. Two pieces were near each other, and the third piece was shredded from him, and in a mushy pile upon the floor. He lifted back up, and spun to cleave the head from a horse and the legs from a rider.

The rider hit the ground, and a metal arrow flew through his throat. He perished quickly, allowing Maynhard to move past him and cleave two grounded men in one swoop. They fell in two, and he noticed the lack of opposition. Few men remained, and the arrows easily cared for them. Grunting, Maynhard looked to his sons and daughters, then to the remaining men. Five men on horseback turned and fled abreast, and the warrior house frowned. A roar was heard, and a flash of black and silver. A roar, and then blood. In a black cloak, a blade weilding figure swung a massive greatsword, split into three points at the tip, much like a trident, cleaved through all five men and their horses, then five arrows finished the legless men. The blood was flicked from the sword, which was placed on a massive sheath upon the back of the cloak. The figure walked forward, conveying an ancient power and knowledge.

Cleaning the weapons off on the clothing of the dead Greyjoy men, the family hummed with a foreign happiness. The girls reclaimed their arrows, and the boys grunted as they looked at the hundred and fifty dead men. Walking back to their family, they watched the cloaked figure, like a massive reaper. They all stood abreast, and the man stopped in front of them. Clawed hands covered in golden fur and heavy bones. The massive hands came up and peeled the hood from the body, revealing an ancient face. Hard features, a broad nose, slits for pupils, and heavy fangs of an almost ivory tone were set onto a face older than time itself. Maynhard nodded his respect. "Father." he said. The massive man grunted. Long black hair of a thickness Westreos natives could not possess, and a beard as thick, giving the appearance of a balck lion's mane. He grunted, and made a deep noise low in his throat, and from the bushes came a woman.

She had long white hair, and black sripes through it. Light black hair covered her bare arms, appearing as though she was striped. Icy blue eyes portrayed as ancient of a knowledge as the male in the cloak. Maynhard nodded to her with just as much respect. "Mother." he said, and she nodded. Both were larger than average, and they stood next to each other. The cloaked man inhaled. " I see you made a special meal for our arrival." he said, turning to the blood soaked boar on the spit, the fire put out. Shango chuckled. "Of course. But we weren't expecting Greyjoy forces to attack us." he said. The ancient man nodded. "Very well then. Gather the horses and put them in the stable. Pull the armor from the bodies and store it somewhere. Weaponry as well. We'll make sure this place stays safe now that you have more forces." he said.

Inside, they had rinsed blood from the boar and began to dine on it. They had enjoyed wine from the cellars, and the finest breads from the grains on the lands. Heartily did they dine, and the only sounds other than their dining was the neighing of the horses on the lands. When the dining was done, the ancient man sighed. "We must do what our honor binds us to do." he said. Shango frowned. "What is that?" he asked. The ancient man laughed. "Me and your father helped build the Stark family. Infact, I was the one who pulled Brandon The Builder from his mother's womb. It pains me that a family I helped become great is so devastated." he said.

Manoush frowned. "How bad is it?" she asked. He sighed. "Eddard is likely dead. Catelyn is a Tully, and was revived by a necromancer. She leads the Brotherhood Without Banners, and is not trustworthy. Robb Stark was killed in an ambush by Roose Bolton. Sansa Stark Lannister is married to The Imp, and likely miserable as all hells. Bran and Rickon are either dead, missing, or hiding in the crypts of Winterfell. Arya is missing, and was last seen in Braavos. Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, so we have no issue there." he stated, taking a large bite out of the boar. Haakon frowned. "Braavos. How did Arya get across the Narrow Sea?" he asked.

The ancient man shrugged. "If my contacts are correct, she was brought there by Jaqen H'ghar. He's a former Lorathi criminal who escaped. He's quite dangerous, and likely took her to The House Of Black And White. If she becomes a Faceless Man, it'll be so much more difficult than before to find her. She can change her face, and if Jaqen trains her, than she'll be able to change her face at will." he said, frowning. Vasili shrugged. "So. What does our honor entitle us to do?" he asked. The ancient woman laughed a lyrical laugh. "Why, we take back Winterfell."


	2. Ogat

_Welcome to chapter two! I now have LibreOffice 3.6.6, so the grammar errors should lessen greatly! As always, thank you for your continued support. And, a side note, voting in my polls makes me happy, if and when I have one. JIRO_

The next morning, the house known as Phunraz was surrounding Winterfell. Manoush, Cilka and Katerina leapt onto the ramparts, using their weapons of choice to dispose of the guards. They then hid themselves from view, a large quiver of arrows was by each girl, and they nodded outside the gate to their male family members. The ancient woman, known by the name Oksana, wielded a bow that split into two short swords, and she looked to her husband. The massive ancient man swung his brutal greatsword, cleaving the closed gates of Winterfell open in one fell swoop. He roared, and the other family members erupted onto the two hundred and fifty ironborn soldiers.

Using his weapons, a broad double bladed axe and Arakh, Shango Phunraz swung down, the axe cleaving into the skull of a soldier stumbling to arm himself. Ducking under the axe of an ironborn, he swung his arakh to disarm his foe, then swung the axe up, opening his foe from navel to nape. Blood erupted, and he fell back dead. He saw soldiers running to the ramparts, and frowned. He hoped his sisters knew what was coming.

Cilka Phunraz saw the ironborn coming. Three of them. She dropped her bow, and pulled her whips from her waist. Two five foot long. Bladed whips, like the stem of a rose. She flung one out, and it wrapped round the leg of an ironborn. He called out, and she swung the other down. The blade like coils sliced through the man, and he screamed as he fell over the ramparts. Tugging, the ensnared soldier's leg came clean off, and he screamed. Spinning, she swung both whips down hard, and the third man brought his shield up to block it. One whip wrapped round his sword arm, and the other slammed into his shield. A quick flick of her wrist and thrust, and the man's sword arm came off and was flung back at him, his own blade in his face.

Manoush Phunraz saw the six ironborn coming. Dropping her bow, she picked up her lance. It was light blue, with an arrowhead on one end, and a two pronged blade on the other. She called it Moonglade, and she jabbed forward. The arrowhead went through the chest of one, and she spun around him, pulling a chakram from her waist. Her secondary weapon was like a giant throwing star combined with a shield. She flung it, and it's twelve arrowheaded points sliced through a second. She pulled the lance out, and thrust it forward, killing a third.

Katerina Phunraz frowned. She came from behind with her weapon, the Poor Melissa. With a curved green handle like a flower, and a gold section to hold the large blade of pale purple on dark purple edges, the scythe cleaved through one of the men. A spin, and a second fell. Coming up diagonally, the final man was cleaved in two. Manoush grabbed her bow, and frowned at her sister. "I had them." she said. Katerina rolled her eyes. "Of course you did. Just like Shango has shoes." she said, and her older sister growled at her. An ironborn came from behind Manoush, who spun and rammed her lance through his chest. She hoisted him above her head, and flung him down into the fray down below.

Vasili and Haakon Phunraz moved together in perfect synchronization. Haakon came down with his Arakh, falling to one knee. Vasili leapt over his brother, using his back like a ramp, and flung arrowheads at the men, knocking them back. He landed, using his feet to slam the arrowheads deeper. Haakon stood, grabbing one of the riderless horses and hoisting it above his head. He tossed the animal, slamming it into three ironborn. The plan had worked, and Haakon spun and kicked an ironborn in the throat, forcing him back.

They had sent the remaining horses and sent them through the open gates of Winterfell. When Theon had seen the lack of riders, he had the gates closed and extra guards posted. _He should've done more_ thought Oksana Phunraz, female matriarch of the house. Using both short swords, she held one in a reverse grip. She swung, jabbing and planting one into the chest of an ironborn, ducking under a blade and jabbing again. She removed the blades, sliding forward and slicing the throat of another, rolling around him to drive one blade into the belly of another. She flipped the blades in her palms, holding both in a normal grip. An ironborn came down, and she came up and parried, using the second blade to stab him behind the chin, through the mouth, and out of his skull.

The ancient man known only as Grandpa Lion swung his greatsword, cleaving three of his foes in half. He came up, swinging the blade down, cleaving another in half. His son Maynhard swung his blade, called by some an axe-sword, and cleaved just as many foes in pieces. Arrows rained down from above, wearing down the numbers quickly. Grandpa Lion and Maynhard both spun, cleaving many foes in pieces, and clashed blades. The force from two massive weapons colliding sent out a shockwave that knocked the ironborn back,where a flurry of arrows finished them. Only three remained, and the warriors of House Phunraz cleaned their weapons and put them away. Yara and Theon Greyjoy appeared, and Shango turned to them. He looked to his sisters, and tapped his shoulders. Cilka nodded, knocking an arrow.

The arrow flew, and another from Katerina followed. The arrows hit their mark, striking Yara in the shoulders and forcing her back, where she was pinned up against a wall with a cry of 'Fuck!' Theon quivered, and all looked to Grandpa Lion. Theon backed up, and stopped when he saw the well like pit Winterfell used to discard their waste. Grandpa Lion smiled, and they all watched. "Where are Rickon and Bran?" he asked, and Theon tried to set his jaw, but failed. "I killed them!" he yelled, his voice holding a false confidence.

The ancient man shook his head. "Lie. You see, I'm so old I don't even remember my name, so I can tell when I'm being lied to. And that, you filthy cunt, is a lie." he said. Theon snapped. "How dare you speak to me that way! I am the Lord of Winterfell, and that makes me your master!" he called. Grandpa Lion turned to the family. "I don't feel like your in control of me. What about you lot?" he asked. The family responded with shakes of the head and shrugs. Grandpa Lion smiled and nodded. "That's what I thought." he said, turning back to Theon. The quivering boy was laughable, and Grandpa Lion was trying to resist laughing. "You call yourself a Lord, but your only a child who has no clue what he's doing." he said.

Theon managed to set his jaw. "I am Lord of Winterfell! You don't have a right to insult me!" he called, his voice cracking and raising an octave. Shango laughed. "Would you like a dress to go with your voice?" he asked, mockingly. Theon growled, and Grandpa Lion pushed him back lightly. "I can do as I please. I am the head of House Phunraz, and the only man I'd ever even think of serving is Eddard Stark. And, you appear to be someone else." he said, and the family nodded. "We second that. I'd rather serve a dead man than a filthy ironborn cunt like him." Haakon said, and Vasili nodded. Theon shook. "This is madness!" he called, and Grandpa Lion shook his head. "No, This! Is! WINTERFELL!" he roared, kicking the ironborn prince in the chest. He fell back, screaming as he tumbled to the bottom of the well like pit.

Grandpa Lion turned to his family. "Gather the bodies. Throw them in, and then set them aflame. Shango, check the crypts and such for the Stark boys. You should be able to smell them. Maynhard, find Luwin and explain what's happened." he said, and Oksana looked to him. "And where will you be heading?" he asked. He sighed. "The only thing I know how to do. I'm going to fight. Roose Bolton and Stannis Baratheon are likely marching here as we speak, and we stand no chance against them. I'm going to rally a few allies. The Northern Mountain Clans will make good allies, as will a few other 'friends' of mine." he said, placing emphasis on the word friend. They nodded, and he set out from the open gates.

After setting flame to the bodies, much to the chagrin of the crushed Theon Greyjoy, they made sure to strip the armor, keep the horses, and weapons. Manoush and her sisters cleaned each weapon, trying to use cloth to scrub the ironborn filth from the weapons. Shango had headed into the castle, having no idea of how to maneuver the castle. He used his senses to determine where he was going. He felt something below him, and set about heading in a downward direction. Walking down a set of stairs, he smelled something odd. It smelled similar to his family, but more.._human._ Shaking his head, he followed the scent to a dark crypt. He looked to each and every grave, paying respects before moving on He found a dark area, and his eyes adjusted quickly. He heard movement, and spun.

He came face to face with a woman shorter than him, wearing rag like robes, and messy unkempt brown hair. She held a dagger in her hand, and his toes tingled. A large man, but simple, was behind him, and two dire wolves were at his sides. He reached to his waist, where he held a short staffed, broad tipped spear. He hummed, and glanced behind him. "You can try to kill me if you want. You'll fail. I came to look for the Stark boys. If you've seen them, I'd like it if you told me." he said. He smelled something off about the large man, and turned to him, giving the woman his back. She came at him, and he simply rolled. She stumbled forward, and he held her tight, her own dagger at her throat.

"You know, I can smell certain things. I know for a fact there's a skinchanger in this room. You can come on out, or I may have to kill the Free Folk woman." he said, sighing. The big man blinked, and shook his head. Three pairs of feet pattered against the ground, and Shango frowned. "Follow me. I'm not one for the dark." he said, leading them all out of the dark crypts of Winterfell.

Once outside, the family had accomplished all of their tasks. They looked to Shango, who turned around. He saw a small boy, who looked almost feral, with a black dire wolf next to him, looking as feral. Two children with red hair stood, both wearing green. Maynhard frowned. "Meera and Jojen Reed. Never thought I'd see your folk again." he said, watching them carefully. Neither appeared fazed by him, and he was noting their lack of care. He turned to the large man with a basket on his back. In the basket, was a boy with shoulder length brown hair and pale skin, and soft features. Maynhard smiled. "Bran. I see your still alive. Though, what would possess you to come back to Winterfell?" he asked. Bran remained quiet, unnerved by the fact this small group eradicated Theon and his forces.

Shango walked over to his father, whispering something in his ear. Neither the Reeds nor Bran could hear, and the big man nodded. He set a stern glare at them. "My son has some concerns about your allegiance. I know your House has a long history of being allies of the Starks. But, I am not a Stark, and I rule Winterfell at this moment. And I plan on following my father into war. If need be, would you leave Bran and Rickon's side?' he asked. Meera, the girl, shook her head. Maynhard nodded. He looked to the ramparts, where Cilka and Katerina were standing guard. He shifted his eyes to the children, and they frowned. "Very well. Would you sacrifice yourself for Bran?" he asked. Jojen, the boy, nodded. Maynhard turned to Maester Luwin, who stood with his arms crossed and a smile on his face.

"Care for them. Find them chambers, and make sure everyone has their own room. I don't want none sharing rooms." he said. His mother, Oksana, followed Bran and the large man away. On the way down the hall, the large man pat Oksana's head like she was a house cat. She smiled, knowing full well his history. "Hodor." he said, smiling. Bran chuckled. Entering Bran's old chambers, Hodor carefully sat Bran in the bed, where he sighed. She looked to Hodor. "Hodor, why don't you look for kittens in Winterfell. I think I saw a litter to the south." she said, and he smiled and left. She turned to Bran, who was unnerved. "Now, why don't we see if we can get your legs working again." she said, a sly smile on her face.

The massive black cloak glided across the lands like a ghost, reaching the Wall easily. He looked up at the wall, and frowned. It was much bigger than when he and Bran the Builder built it. He also smelt magick, and a lot of it. He grabbed the gate to the main tunnel, and threw it up, sliding underneath. He walked through, feeling nothing but cold. After making it through, he realized he forgot to tell his family what to do with Yara Greyjoy. He sighed, hoping they left her alive. Exiting the tunnel, he was met with the massive hinterland beyond the wall. Walking forward, he made sure to be weary of any and all people he ran into. He moved quickly, hoping to return before someone tried to besiege Winterfell.

Grunting at the sheer force it took to move forward in waist deep snow, Grandpa Lion reached his destination. A house made of pure ice, and a door made of weirwood. He trudged forward, and rapped his fist upon the door. A click was heard, and then the door opened, and Grandpa Lion came face to face with an old friend of his. "Old Man Lion! Come in, it must be freezing!" he said, and the man laughed. "That's funny coming from you." he said, walking into the surprisingly warm house. He always found it odd finding warmth on the other side of the wall. He had traversed far beyond the wall, into the Lands of Always Winter. He sat down on an ice chair, and threw his hood off. His friend sat next to him, and smiled.

"Tell me Old Man, what brings you here?" he asked. The ancient man grunted. "I require your assistance. How many men can you gather by dawn?"he asked. The other being at the table frowned, his thin, cold lips stretching his face. "Fifty. Why?" he asked. The ancient man nodded. "Good. I'll need them. Things have happened. Much has happened for the worse, and I fear war is coming." he said. His friend nodded, his long white hair bobbing with his head. "Tell me what has happened. Then I'll judge whether or not my men will assist you." he said. The ancient man nodded, and began to speak.

"First, Eddard Stark is likely dead. Robb Stark was ambushed and killed by Roose Bolton, who plotted with the Freys. Sansa is in King's Landing, and married to The Imp. The Lannisters and Tyrells have aligned, and the Vale, and the Trident are basically in the control of Petyr Baelish. Danerys Targaryen has three dragons that she can't control, and is across the Narrow Sea. Arya is across the Narrow Sea as well, at The House Of Black And White. Bran and Rickon are in Winterfell under my family's protection, and Varys The Spider is becoming more desperate to see a Targaryen on the throne." he explained, and the white haired fellow nodded.

"Very well. And you need us because?" he asked. "Simple. I'm going to war, and before I do, I need to keep Winterfell safe. Stannis Baratheon is marching on Winterfell, and I guarantee you Roose Bolton isn't far behind. Your forces would be quite helpful." he said, and the white haired man nodded. "Very well then. I shall gather them now. You shouldn't go across the Wall without us. However, how will we go past, when the ward on the wall stop us?" he asked, icy eyes locked on him. Grandpa Lion laughed. "The Wall is younger than me. It will bend to me. I made sure the wards were placed on it to be nullified by the Starks, and by my house. If your with me, you can walk by as if you were human." he said. The icy figure nodded. "Very well then. We are at your side, much like we were thousands of years ago." he said, and Grandpa Lion nodded.

Night had fallen, and Maynhard Phunraz was irritated. Yara Greyjoy had yet to shut up, and was becoming annoying. "If you don't be quiet, I'll have your tongue removed. And then you won't be worth as much." he said. She shut up, and sighed. "Why did you do that?" she asked, a humble tone in her voice. He huffed. "Because I could. Never trust a seer." he warned, his mighty blade propped up against the wall. She hung her head. "You realize what the little Lordling will say?" she said. Maynhard chuckled. "I couldn't care less. The swamp-dwellers cannot be trusted. My kin have had issues with them, and our allies as well." he said. She laughed. "I may be clueless when it comes to ground dwellers, but don't the swamp-dwellers hate the Freys?" she asked. He nodded. "Of course. But we needed a symbol to warn Stannis and Roose. Meera and Jojen will make great martyrs." he said, smiling.

He looked to the ramparts, where Meera Reed's burnt flesh hung dangling, a symbol to Stannis and other followers of R'hllor, the supposed Lord of Light. Jojen reed was flayed and castrated, and hung as a symbol to warn the Bolton army. He chuckled at the irony. Yes, they were allies. But he couldn't trust them, and neither did Shango. Bran would learn to deal with it. _Besides, _Maynhard thought, _it's not as though he had affections for either of them. I could tell. His heart lies with another. One far from here._

The next morning, Cilka called to her family, who were getting a head start. Hodor carried Bran, whose legs still didn't work, and Osha stood next to him. Rickon hung his head, standing fearfully next to Maester Luwin. Grandpa Lion came in, followed by fifty war horses. Each horse had rotting flesh near it's maw, and razor sharp teeth. And atop were icy figures, pale white skin, long white hair, shriveled features, and an ancient knowledge and arrogance in their icy blue eyes. They jumped down, each carrying a weapon of ice, and of larger than man stature. The leader, one with markings carved into his icy flesh, and longer white hair than the rest jumped from his horse.

"Greetings. I have been told you need our assistance?" he said, bowing before Bran, who shook in fear. Maester Luwin was in mortified shock, and Hodor blinked in confusion. Rickon was unfazed, and Osha blinked in shock and fear. Shango, and the rest of the Phunraz family, laughed. "Long time since we've seen you, huh Chilly?" Shango jeered, and the elder laughed. Maynhard nodded in respect. "Long time no see Tzimisce Frostfang." he said. The man nodded. "It has been a while Maynhard." he said. He turned to his men, and thrust his spear into the air. They gave a great cry, a signal to the foes. Winterfell had new guards, and the world would now know they would face the Frostfang tribe, the White Walkers of Winterfell.

_Quick note: Tzimisce: pronounced: Zhi-mi-she_


	3. Zhvorsa

Ravens had been sent out, and by the next noon, the forty northern mountain clans had arrived. Sitting back feasting on salted meat, Grandpa Lion allowed Maynhard to negotiate. Each of the mountain clans was gifted with armor and weaponry for their clansmen. Some demanded more lands, and Maynhard promised each and every house they defeat will be split up amongst the northern mountain clans, so that they may have more lands for whatever they please. That sealed the deal for a great number of them, but one clan remained stalwart. The clan was known as House Breacher, and their was Lord Gunnar the Breacher. He felt that promises weren't enough. The armor was nothing, as each clan only received a small amount. Maynhard seethed, but remained calm.

"Lord Breacher, I already stated you shall receive larger lands upon our victory." he said, eyes narrowed. Breacher was a large man, but still much shorter than Maynhard. "I couldn't care less. I either want the entire sum of lands belonging to House Frey, or I shall remain neutral on this." he said, and Maynhard frowned. "Will all due respect, that would give you authority bordering a great house. And that may obligate other mountain clans to fight for you in the future. I can't give you that much power, it would be unfair." he said, fists clenching. Grandpa Lion was growing irritated.

Yara Greyjoy coughed, the taste of soap still in her mouth. She rubbed her throat, which was guaranteed to bruise, and glared at Oksana Phunraz. Yara had tried to escape not too long ago, and it had failed horribly. They had taken her to a room to bathe her and clean her wounds, but she made to escape. She fought valiantly, but the striped woman walked into the room, and she stopped. The woman had grabbed her by the throat and dunked her in and out of the hot, soapy water repeatedly, washing the ironborn filth from her body. She was taken outside, a hostage and prisoner. She watched Maynhard grow irritated, and noticed the hair on his arms change from black to brown, and then to yellow.

Grandpa Lion frowned, and spoke up. "We'll throw the woman in!" he called, jabbing a massive finger at Yara. She froze, and couldn't believe her ears. Baldur Breacher, Gunnar's son and heir, walked forward. He was huge to Yara, and dumb. He smiled a broken toothed smile, and his broad shoulders were frightening. He leaned down and sniffed her, and laughed. "She smell good pa. Can we do the deal pa, please?" he asked, and his father growled. He shook his head. "But she's putty pa. Can we pa? And can I be with her first pa?" he asked. His father growled, and narrowed his eyes. "Fine. We're in. But only for my son, remember that." he said, turning and walking away. His clansmen followed him, and Baldur grabbed Yara and walked away with them. After they left, Maynhard sighed. "That better be worth it." he said, frowning.

Sundas came up to him, smiling. "You just gained fifteen thousand soldiers. Of course it's worth it." she said. He nodded. "I hope so. I don't trust Breacher. He's too far into the idea of replacing the Freys. And remember what happened to the Freys." he said, grumbling. Grandpa Lion laughed. "You're fine. First things first, we need to finish the Greyjoy fleets. I sent ravens to a few of my friends near the Iron Islands. Within a few days, everything should be better. The Grey joy's will be gone, and Bran will be Lord of Winterfell. Relax until then son, you seem tense." he said. Maynhard nodded. "Tense isn't the word." he said, walking off.

The man knelt before the Iron Throne, hoping Joffery would be merciful. The young king clenched his jaw, and frowned. "Kill him." he said, and his Kings guard set forward, ramming blades through his flesh with ease, then dragging his limp body away. The king growled. Tyrion laughed. "It seems that someone is coming for you." he said, looking over to his nephew. Joffery frowned. "Shut up, Imp." he growled. Said Imp only smirked. "What's the matter? All I'm saying is that this previously unknown house took Winterfell in the name of the Starks. You killed Eddard Stark, and abused Sansa. With clearance from the crown, Robb and Katelyn Stark were ambushed." he said, musing aloud.

"In fact, it seems they are coming for all of us. I believe they will chop off our heads and fuck our corpses. That's too bad, I was hoping to live a little while longer." he said, shrugging. Joffery seethed. "They stand no chance against my Kingsguard, and that's if they can even get close to me." he said. Tyrion blinked. "They fight in the name of the Starks. Unless you want Robb Stark all over again, I suggest you take this more seriously. Reports say that ten members of this house wiped the five hundred Greyjoy troops out of Winterfell." he said, a stern look on his face. Joffery scoffed. "I doubt that." he said. Tyrion laid a glare on Joffery. "Might I remind you Sandor Clegane is missing. Imagine how fucked your corpse would be if he sided with them." he said.

Joffery dismissed it. Tyrion grew irritated. He walked over and struck Joffery. "Sometimes I wonder why the poison didn't kill you." he said, before walking out. He sat in his room, and seethed. His wife, Sansa Stark, sat next to him, rubbing his back. He sighed. "If only I knew more of this house. Then I may be able to convince Joffery to not b such a cunt about this." he said, sighing. "Perhaps I can help you with that." a voice said, and Tyrion whirled around to see Varys The Spider. The fat, bald eunuch smiled, and held a book in his hands. Tyrion breathed heavily. "Good damnit. I thought you were here to kill me." he said. Varys shook his head. "Now why would I do that?" he asked. Tyrion shrugged. "I don't know. Ask Pycelle, oh, wait, he's dead." he stated.

Varys laughed. "But of course. This book will tell you everything you need to know on House Phunraz." he said, placing the book in front of Tyrion. The Imp looked at the robe wearing man. "What do you think of them?" he asked.. The Spider looked away. "I think that they are not to be trifled with. I believe even a dragon would have issue with this House." he said, before seemingly floating out of the room. Tyrion sighed. "Damn bastard and his robes." he cursed, before turning to the book. He looked at it. "The conquests of House Phunraz, a house before the first men, a house before man at all." he read. He blinked. "Well, that doesn't sound very good." He opened the book, skimming through carefully.

"House Phunraz is so old, none can date it's founding, nor detail it's founder. All that is known is that House Phunraz has been the most prominent house off all time. They aided in the founding of Winterfell, and the building of the wall. Tales further in this volume will detail how the inhuman soldiers under House Phunraz's rule helped in many battles, including the Rebellion of Robert Baratheon." he read, and then blinked. "Oh shit."

"First, the orcs. A group of tall powerful men with pale features and near flat faces. Each is six to seven feet tall, and has a maw of razor sharp teeth. Their favorite foods include salted meat, bread and human flesh." he read, and stopped. He blinked twice at this. "Perfect. After they fuck our corpses, they'll eat them." he stated, shuddering. "Next, the dwarves. The small warriors were unparalleled smiths, the greatest in the realm. Some dwarves took residence in Winter Town, off the beaten path from Winterfell. They were a sturdy folk, around four to five feet tall." he read. Tyrion sighed. "Maybe I should be a smith as well. Then again, I'm better at being clever and handsome." he said, smiling to himself.

"Next, the fae. Beautiful, magickal folk with pointed ears. Dwarves are part of the fae, as are orcs. It is odd how the fae split, as their cousins are the elves. Six feet tall and beautiful, these graceful warriors and musicians are almost always master archers. There are four variations of elf, light, dark, black, and sylvyrmyst. Odd way to spell silver and mist." he said. He read on. "The light elves had either pale skin or light blue skin. Their hair was never darker than the signature Lannister gold, and the blue skinned variety were accustomed to cold. However, they are the most frivolous, and prefer sex to war." he read.

"Next are the dark elves. They always have pale skin, and they have hair so dark, it almost looks like a night sky on their head. They are the best musicians, and are fine with war. It is said that Dark elves are the most skilled in arcane arts, such as necromancy." he read. "Perfect. They can bring me back so I'm not a corpse." he thought, shuddering.

"Next are the black elves. Skin color ranges from light purple to pitch black, and hair depends on skin color. Silver and black hair are common for purple skinned elves, as are golden eyes. However, pitch black elves have snow white hair, and silver orbs for eyes. This species is the most invested in killing and torture, and their weapons often cause pain that kills, not kill themselves." He blinked. "Lovely. We are so fucked." he said.

"Finally are the sylvyrmyst. These elves are intriguing. They have pitch black skin and silver hair on most occasions, and have mesmerizing green eyes. Other account detail them with bronze skin and a silvery green hair color, and silver eyes. These elves are the best warriors, and are not afraid to look brutal instead of graceful." he said. He sighed. "I haven't finished this book yet. And from what I've read, are corpses are so fucked my ass has started to hurt." he said, reading on.

"Other fae exist. Pixies are six inches tall and quite magickal. Trolls, ogres, goblins, orcs and such are the dark side of the family, portraying the brutish power the other half condemn. Faeries themselves are basically winged elves, and just as powerful. Imagine any of these elves flying above, raining down arrows so fast you couldn't tell whether there was one faerie, or a hundred." he stopped. He looked to Sansa. "I'm not even going to finish. We're getting the fuck out of King's Landing." he said. She furrowed her brow. "Where will we go?" she asked. "Simple," he began "You're a Stark. They serve the Starks. This army of corpse fucking beasts will be yours. Only if you head to Winterfell. And take me with you of course." he said, smiling happily.

A raven reached Maynhard the next day. He read the scroll sent with it, and then showed it to his father, then the rest of his house. Grandpa Lion smiled. "Very good. I will have to make sure Tyrion isn't ambushed along he way. I'll be bidding you all farewell, and I shall return soon." he said, smile on his face. He turned, and headed toward the northern gate, on his way out. Maynhard grunted. "Always walking out to do something else." he said. Oksana laughed. 'Yes, and last time he did, he came back with fifty White Walkers." she retorted. Maynhard grunted, looking to the sky. It would snow again soon, and hard. Maybe Stannis and Roose wouldn't bet at their doorstep as soon as they'd think.

They had sent another raven to Grandpa Lion's sea-borne 'friends' It was a request to search for something deep in the sea, and hoped they'd find it. They made sure to entail to retrieve the four Valyrian Steel objects from the Iron Islands. An axe in the possession of Victarion Greyjoy and a dragon horn, along with the blades Red Rain and Nightfall. Maynhard had suspected the axe Victarion possessed would be made of the alloy, and his suspicions were confirmed by a spy in their ranks. With four Valyrian Steel weapons in their possession, the house known as Phunraz would have four new bargaining chips of immense value.

Victarion Greyjoy had no worries. He was on his way out of the Iron Island, having to return due to an unusual lack of provisions. He was to head to Meereen to offer a marriage proposal to Danerys Targaryen from his brother Euron, but planned on proposing himself. He assumed Danerys would accept a proposal from a powerful man with ninety ships instead of one that's not even present. He smiled. He should have been in Euron's place, but lost the Kingsmoot. _Damn Euron and his declarations. I'll secure the Iron Throne with Dragon fire._ He thought, frowning. A yell caught his attention, and he noticed one of his ships began to sink. He found it odd, and called to his forces. They were on open waters, and no ships other than his were visible. A second ship began to sink, and he cursed. "We're under attack! Prepare for anything!" he called, scouring the waters for any sign of any others. He yelled for his ship to move as fast as possible, and escape. Nods from the crew were seen, and a favorable wind blew, pushing the ship forward. Ships sunk behind them, and he swore he saw the flash of blades on board. Screams were heard, and ten ships were gone. The other eighty ships moved with him, and tried to escape.

Victarion looked to the east, where a member of the crew pointed to. He gaped, as one lone ship began to sail closer. It was a nightmare for Vicatarion, as it was a ship he thought he sunk a long time ago. The ship was whiter than bone, and the sails were broad, and red as blood. On the largest sail was a sigil Victarion hoped the ironborn would never have to see again. A field of red with a hammerhead shark on it, snarling with eyes narrowed. The ghostly ship closed in, and Victarion screamed to his men to prepare for battle. He called to a smaller vessel, and commanded it to sail into that ship. The ship's captain gaped, but nodded and listened, screaming orders with a feverish pall over his features.

Victarion watched the smaller ship sail directly at the white sea demon. The white ship veered off with immense speed, and the small ship missed. The white beast would reach them in minutes, and Victarion was adamant about avoiding the ship. He cursed, placing his helm on his head and brandishing his axe. The mighty ship was abreast with his ship know, and he noticed one thing. No one appeared to be on board. He frowned, wondering if it was an illusion. Then water rose up beside his ship, and men began to climb up. Victarion stumbled back, and shook his head. It couldn't be.

Beasts erupted on board, killing everyone. A man screamed, massive wounds across his chest. He stumbled back, falling overboard. Victarion screamed for them to fight, but it was useless. The beasts came closer, and he backed up. He surged forward, slicing the back of one of the beasts. It turned, and he swung again, striking it's face. It stumbled back, falling overboard, where it's blood stained the ocean. He laughed, and turned. He froze to the spot at the sight of the white ships captain.

He was elderly, and had long gray-brown hair, adorned with assorted beads and accessories. He wore a three pointed hat, and had a snarky smile on his face. He spoke with force, almost berating his foe with just the sound of it. "Well, it's been a while Victarion. How many years?" he asked. The Greyjoy captain swung his cruel axe, which the captain dodged. "Oh, come on. You can do better than that." h said, arid voice angering Vicatarion. He swung from side to side, and the man back up. Victarion swung again, and he leaned away. He laughed. "So much like before. Except, unlike last time, you can't cheat." he said, smiling a sharp-toothed smile.

"I killed you." he said incredulously. The captain laughed. "You killed nothing! I'm here, ain't I ye scallywag!?" he yelled, and Victarion set his jaw. "Ye ironborn are all the same. Yer all warriors of the sea until you lose, then yer cowards. It's too bad you threw me overboard last time, or I may have been killed. But, a shark must always move, and what better place than the ocean?" he asked. Victarion shook his head, and the captain pursed his lips, then nodded. He heard a crack, and then a pop. He shook his head, and dropped his shield. The captain's arms changed color, and began to grow scales. His face broadened, and lengthened. Victarion fell to his knees as the webbing formed between his fingers, and a tail erupted from his back. His head erupted, splitting like a hammer. He roared, and Victarion felt his chest clench in pain. The captain set upon him, and he screamed so loud, Euron Greyjoy woke from a sound sleep.

Once done with Victarion, the captain turned to his men, all in their man-beast, or therian, forms. "Gentlemen! This fleet is now in the command of Barbosa Hammerhead of House Rokea!" he called, and the men cried out, thrusting their clawed, webbed hands into the air.

Maynhard smiled once he received the information. The Valyrian Steel object, minus the dragon horn, were obtained and on route to Winterfell. He smiled, but was unnerved by the lack of the dragon horn. If it was used on Danerys Targaryen's Dragons, House Phunraz would have an issue. Another problem was the fact that the men couldn't find the other object at the bottom of the sea. He sighed, but Shango walked in. "We've got an issue at the gates. You should see this." he said, and his father stood, heading out.

of The Drowned God. He frowned at the sight of tPriesthe ironborn at his gates, but disregarded him for something more interesting. With all four small hooked claws dug into Aeron's robes was a small blue dragon, who screeched and launched a tiny lightning bolt from it's maw.


	4. Cho Fatat Khal

Maynhard frowned at the Greyjoy, paying more attention to the dragon on his shoulder. It screeched, and the priest smiled at it. "I see you've met my little friend here." he stated, a calm aura about him. Maynhard nodded. "Of course. He's very noticeable." he said. Aeron rose a thick brow. "He? Dragons cannot be male or female from what I've gathered." he stated, and Maynhard laughed. "Old wives tale. Dragons are male and female, like everything else in this world. It's just the type of dragon normally decides gender. Storm dragons are normally male, as female dragons are picky about their surroundings, and storm ridden areas disturb their sleep, and keep their young up at night." he said.

Aeron nodded. "You seem to know a lot of dragons. Perhaps it would be best if this dragon is in your care." he said. Shango chuckled. "You have no intention of giving us that dragon." he said. Aeron shook his head. "On the contrary, that's why I'm here." he said, turning to Maynhard. "I will give you this dragon, and the location of a ship sailing to Meereen to enslave Danerys Targaryen's dragons with a Valyrian Steel Dragon Horn. In addition, I will swear fealty to you, and aid you in any way possible. I would prefer to be seaborne, as I am ironborn, but it is not necessary. In the case that Euron is defeated, House Greyjoy will belong to me, and we will be loyal to you. Of course, you can refuse and kill me now." he said.

Maynhard frowned. He was basically offering the Iron Islands, and likely the surroundings, to House Phunraz, along with a dragon, and the dragon horn's objective and location, and had yet to state what he wanted in return. "And what will you ask for in return?" he asked. Aeron remained calm and motionless. "I would ask for you to spare me of course. I would like a ship to be captain of, but it is not required. A place with an abundance of water, whether frozen or not. And the only things I'd wish to be guaranteed is a chance to kill Stannis Baratheon." he stated, and Maynhard nodded. "I see. You want to kill Stannis, and you're willing to give up everything to accomplish this feat. What would you do if Stannis was already defeated?" he asked. Aeron frowned. "Then consider it a sign of good faith from the Drowned Men that we will aid you in any way possible." he said. Maynhard nodded.

"I see. One final question. How did you hatch that dragon's egg?" he asked. Aeron closed his eyes. "Simply. With the blood of the ironborn coating the sea purple, a storm began to brew. As the storm raged, I easily walked to the bottom of the sea and grabbed the dragon, who had hatched from the egg with blood and storm." he stated. Shango laughed. "You walked to the bottom of the sea?" he asked. Aeron nodded. "Yes. It's a skill all of the drowned men have. We drown, and then are risen from the dead crudely. This method makes us immune to drowning, which is why we are called The Drowned Men." he stated. Maynhard nodded. "I see. Very well, I agree to your terms. You will stay in Winterfell so that we may test your loyalty to us. That, and Stannis is marching on the Winterfell as we speak." he said, and Aeron nodded, a hard look in his eyes.

Tyrion Lannister walked the Palace halls, searching for Varys the Spider. The eunuch would be able to secure him a carriage or horse to leave, and not tell a soul about it. He was finding the eunuch difficult to find, and headed back to his chambers. He frowned, opening the door, and closing it behind him. He sat down, sighing. His wife, Sansa, smiled at him, and he groaned. "I find that the eunuch is being a cunt. You can never find him, he always finds you. What is a dwarf to do when he's going to be corpsefucked?" he asked, and received no answer. He looked to her. "Listen to me, I promise nothing will happen to you. We will leave, and once we reach Winterfell, you will declare your heritage and take over Winterfell. None will challenge you. This I promise. All I need to do is make arrangements for us to escape." he said, sighing at the hopelessness of it all.

The figure turned a corner, long blond hair billowing behind her. She made sure to wear long robes, and large enough ones to hide her gender from any she crossed paths with. She turned another corner, her hair changing with her features. She now bore a boy's face, with short brown hair, and dirty features. She slumped her head, appearing as a slave off to do some horrid task, or a male whore ashamed at his profession. She trudged about, and then turned the corner, face altering to a young knight, with shoulder length black hair and green eyes. He threw the robes off, wearing a thin breastplate, and a long, thin, slightly curved blade at her waist. Reaching her destination, she slammed her foot into the door, tearing it open.

Tyrion spun at the sight of the young knight at his door. The boy smiled, and bowed. "Lord Lannister, your carriage awaits." he said. Tyrion blinked. _My carriage? _He thought. He blinked. He turned to Sansa, smiling and spreading his arms. "See love? I told we'd take a carriage from this gods forsaken shithole. Come, let us leave before my cunt of a nephew finds out." he said, and held his hand out. She took it, and he led her out of the room, silently thanking the knight who'd saved their corpses from a royal fucking.

They walked through the halls, meeting no resistance. Tyrion had to admit, the choice in hallways was proper, and he had yet to run into any guards. He blinked. _Where are the guards?_ He thought. He looked from left to right, down each hall, but found nothing. "The guards aren't doing a very good job today." he said, and the knight chuckled. "They're a bit _hung up_ at the moment." he said, and Tyrion furrowed his brow. _No. No, it couldn't be_ He thought, then looked up. He gaped, because as they walked, guards hung from the ceiling periodically, swaying dead in the halls. He was astonished. "What the fuck did you do?" he said, louder than he'd wanted to. The knight laughed. "I relieved them of their duty." he said, and Tyrion shook his head.

They ran into a guard, who was suspicious. "Halt!" he called, stopping them. The knight spun to face him, placing Sansa and Tyrion behind him. Tyrion noticed that the knight was quite short and thin, and appeared too confident. The knight, a shorter fellow, but still larger than their knight, stood in front of them. "Want to tell me why you're walking through the halls with a murder suspect?" he said, and the knight sighed. His hand shot to his blade's wrapped hilt, and he drew with speed. He drew, cleaving the head from the knight with ease. Spinning and flicking the blood from the blade, he sheathed it in seconds. Tyrion gaped, and the knight continued on his way. "Come along little man." he said, and Tyrion shuddered at the thought of the knight turning on him.

They made it out, and to a horse-drawn carriage. There were six horses abreast, and Tyrion found this odd. He opened the door, and they climbed in, noticing bags of coins, and chests of clothing for them. The knight sat in front, and snapped the reins. The horses moved forward at a leisurley pace, combing through the streets of King's Landing. Tyrion hoped for the best, but nothing is as one would hope. They ran into King Joffery and a couple members of the Kingsguard, including his father, Jaime Lannister. Tyrion frowned as the carriage was stopped, and opened the door and stepped out. He stood on the ground, and looked to the knight, sending a look of warning should he move. Joffery frowned.

"Where are you going Imp?" he asked, venom in his tone. The dwarf tilted his head. "I'm leaving King's Landing. I like my head, and that house will put it on a spike next to yours. And I'm far too dashing for that." he said, smiling. Joffery laughed. "That house is nothing. We will crush them, and quickly too." he said, arrogant smirk on his features. Tyrion glowered at him. "You think this is a game? Because if it is, I would win every time. Tell me, what happens if one of these monstrous Phunraz folk break into the throne room and kill everyone? What would you do then?" he asked. Joffery laughed. "I would sick my Kingsguard on them." he said. Tyrion shook his head. "Six members of your Kingsguard taking on ten members of this house. Numbers alone tell you you're fucked." he said. Joffery frowned. "You think my Kingsguard would lose to a few barbarians?" he asked. Tyrion pursed his lips. "Heavens no. I never said they'd lose. They'd just be so fucked that a used whore would be purer than them." he said. Joffery growled.

"Remember who you're talking to Imp." he said. Tyrion rose a brow. "I'm talking to my cunt of a nephew, who insists he is the greatest thing in the Realm. And when these barbarians stomp down you're gates, I shall laugh as your raped to death, and you're wife becomes a cheap whore for their sons, and then their sons." he seethed, and Joffery scowled. "You will not talk of my wife that way." he said. Tyrion laughed. "Oh, that's rich. All of a sudden, you protect one wife, when you're first wife was beaten and abused for your sick pleasure." he said, and Joffery chuckled. "Of course. My current wife is beautiful, unlike my stupid bitch of a first wife." he said. Tyrion snapped, and hopped, backhanding the king across the face. He screeched, falling back and hitting the ground.

Tyrion glared at him, puckered scar making his features darker. "You will not speak of MY wife that way! You are nothing! You're not even the rightful king! Robert Baratheon's oldest bastard is rightful king, and if not a bastard, then his psychotic brother Stannis, you foul cunt! You're not even worth being related to! From this day forth, I'm leaving, and becoming my own House. From this fucking cuntfucking second forth, I am Lord Tyrion Lannister, of the Lannisters of Winterfell!" he screamed, and then spat on the king. He climbed into the carriage, screaming for the knight to drive. The knight laughed, and drew his blade. He swung, cleaving Jamie Lannister's left ear from his face, and snapping the reins. The horses set off, a second snap of reins causing them to speed up, moving as fast as they could. Joffery seethed. "AFTER THEM!" he screeched, and the guards surrounding the gates jumped on horses and set off.

A hundred guards followed them, and Tyrion cursed. "Cuntfucking shit!" he called, and wondered just what he could do. He watched them close in, flipping off the wall."Fucking tits on a breastplate!" he screamed as they grew abreast with them. Surrounded by foes, with more behind them, Tyrion knew they were fucked. "I am Tyrion Lannister. Let me be known as King Slapper, and the God of Tits and Wine." he said, closing his eyes. He heard a loud noise, and couldn't pinpoint what it was. He heard another noise he could identify. It was a wolf's howl.

Nymeria surged forth, leading a large pack of normal wolves, and began to attack the Lannister Men. Two wolves latched onto the legs of a horse, taking it down. Nymeria slammed her jaws into the throat of a horse, taking it down and throwing the rider off. Another wolf tore the man to shreds, and she rose, blood on her coat, and moved. The knight drew his blade, slicing the arm from a knight. The wolves heard a yelp, and saw a man drive his blade through the heart of one of their kin. They snarled, charging the man. The carriage was attacked, and blades rained down upon it, cutting through the wood. The blades sunk in, forcing Tyrion and Sansa to the center of the carriage. They knew it was over, as more wolves fell, and Nymeria slowly became the only survivor. A mighty blade cleaved the top of the carriage away, allowing Tyrion to see just how fucked they were. He closed his eyes, seeing a blade come for his head, and then heard the mighty whine of a horse. He looked to the way the sound came from, and saw a mighty black war horse.

The rider screamed, cleaving their attacker in two. He turned, veering his horse away to swing his blade down. The head of a horse fell, and the rider tumbled, crushed under the body. Nymeria jumped, sinking her jaws into another horse's throat. The animal fell, and the rider flew, where the knight's blade removed his head from his shoulders. The horse rider swung again, taking another man and horse down. The reins were snapped, and all the horses moved faster. Tyrion found himself alive. "By my mother's sagging tits, I'm alive! Thank the gods! Thank you.." he said, turning to the rider on the black horse. He gaped. He assumed the man was some sellsword who he didn't know, but he knew this man well. He looked into the face of Sandor Clegane, thought dead by the Crown.

They continued to ride in silence, having slowed down. Sansa was shocked by it all, but remained confident that once she stated her heritage, she'd be in control of Winterfell again. She looked to the knight, who was as silent as everyone else. A whine of horses was heard, and Sansa and Tyrion turned to see more men coming for them, led by Loras Tyrell, the Knight of The Flowers. He called for them to attack, and he charged, holding a sharp lance in his hand. Tyrion screamed. "Why the FUCK did I have to slap that cunt!?" he roared, questioning himself. The knight laughed. "Relax. We're fine little man." he said. Loras screamed as he neared, and a louder roar was heard. A massive man exploded from the trees, wielding a massive blade. He swung, and his blade tore through the horse of Loras, and cleaved through his arm and chest, sending him tumbling into the air. He grabbed two horses, and spread his arms, swinging them like clubs. One slammed into another rider, killing him. He spun, spinning in a circle and ending three more men.

He clapped the horses, sending out a gust of wind that forced other horses on their hind legs. Nymeria had whirled around, and sunk her jaws into a horse, rolling. She spun, taking the horse's head with her, and jabbed her back legs at a horse. The other horse fell, rider tumbling away. The massive man used the blade, cleaving his foes in pieces with mighty swings, and the riders could barely avoid. The few that made it around were met with Sandor Clegane, who had no intention of letting the two in the carriage die. When that resistance was gone, Tyrion fainted from the pressure, hitting his had on a chest of clothing. The knight driving the carriage turned, chuckling. "Too bad. I enjoyed the sound of his voice."

Maynhard frowned at the news he received. "Are you sure?" he asked. Aeron Greyjoy nodded. "Yes. Petyr Baelish turned the bog devils against you. He received information on the fact that you had two bodies hanging at your gates, and informed them it was Jojen and Meera. I was surprised he was correct, as it was a guess to try and defeat you. What will you do?" he asked. Maynhard frowned. "I'll wait, and then bring the battle to them. If they march on Winterfell, and join Bolton or Baratheon, we'll have a bad time, even with the northern mountain clans." he said. Aeron nodded. "And in the case you leave Winterfell, who will you leave in charge?" he asked. Maynhard sighed.

"In the event that all of the Phunraz family leaves Winterfell, and no able bodied Stark is available, you will be Lord of Winterfell, much as it pains me. In the event a Stark is able bodied, you will serve as a bodyguard, as I know you can do more than you're letting on." he said, and Aeron nodded, eyes half lidded. Maynhard looked outside, and frowned. "Are you capable of doing any form of magick?" he asked. Aeron ran his fingers through his beard, and exhaled from his nose. "A Drowned Man can do many things." he said. Maynhard nodded. "You will remain close to Bran Stark at all times, and we will post Osha on Rickon, and once Bran recovers, Hodor will move to Rickon." he stated. Aeron nodded.

Bran was grumbling, drunk out of his mind. He wore no shirt, and was too far gone to notice the large bowl filled with needles next to the bed he was sitting on. Oksana inhaled, running her finger down his spine. She felt a knot near his tailbone, and removed her hand, and it hovered over his back. He giggled, and she exhaled, slamming her palm into the knot. Bran screamed, and fell forward unconscious. She grabbed the bowl of needles, and began slipping them into his skin, relieving him of the pain by open his energy flow. She sensed something else. It was held down, and held back, like a chained prisoner. She dug deeper, feeling it out fully. She narrowed her eyes, placing the last needle in his back. She placed the bowl down and headed to see her son.

Maynhard noticed his mother instantly. He nodded respectfully, and she nodded back. "I have found something." she said. Maynhard furrowed his brow. "What?" he asked. She began to walk, and he followed. "I repaired the damage done. He will eventually walk again, and hopefully be back to normal by this time next month. But I found something else." she said. Maynhard nodded. "He's a Stark. And the good kind. Like Bran the Builder." she said. He rose a brow. "Are you serious? He's a skinchanger. Not many skinchanger have that." he said. She nodded. "Yes. I plan on helping him awaken _that, _as you so eloquently put it. Do you have any other plans?" she asked. He shook his head. "No, go right ahead. I have to speak to some of our friends. We may be going to war with the swamp-dwellers soon." he said. She nodded. "I'll gather the kids." she said, and he thanked her. He sighed. It had been a very long time since he fought this much. He almost missed it. Almost.


	5. Annakholat Baelish

A raven came in hours later, and Maynhard read it. "Long time no see Phunraz. I like your request. We've grown cobwebs on our whiskers thanks to the peace. The chance to shed a little blood and take lands is great. We'll join you, and attack immediately. See you there, House Marsimba." he read, and nodded. He turned. "Time to head out. Aeron, you're in charge. I trust you enough. Make sure nothing happens to Bran, or we'll make sure your worst fears are made a reality." he said, smiling and yelling. House Phunraz rode out on Dothraki war horses, weapons brandished. Aeron sighed, and the dragon screeched on his shoulder.

The swamp men were armed and ready to move out, and then a roar was heard. They spun, and massive beast men, in the shape of lions and men combined, erupted from the water and attacked. Their upper bodies were so huge and muscled, they feared that they could flex and defeat them. One came down with a spear, skewering a man. They retaliated, their archers launching arrows into their flesh. They were forced back, and wouldn't fall. A blade swing from a swamp man and one of the beast men leaned back, coming down with huge claws, tearing him apart. He screamed, and fell. The lion man continued, spinning and punching another swamp man, killing him by crushing in his chest. He ducked under an arrow, pulling it from the ground and winging it at the swamp man, and it flew through his chest. He moved around one of his brethren, and swung his claws down, spinning and kicking. He followed up with a swing of claw, and came up and grabbed another man, throwing him. The swamp men were fighting with a number advantage, but the swamp lions had a power advantage.

Lord Leo Marsimba swung his claws down, cutting through a swamp man. He was outnumbered fifteen to one or more, as he only had a thousand men compared to the fifteen thousand plus swamp men his men battled. He grabbed a man who jabbed a blade at him, throwing him about, where he crashed into water, and tried to rise, but swamp lions still hiding from the water reached up, like furred arms with claws from the water, and grabbed him, dragging him down into the water, to never rise again. Leo spun, slamming his clawed foot into a swamp man with a spear. He grabbed the spear, and tossed it into another man.

Tyrion awoke and heard a chuckle. "Get ready, we're riding into a battle it seems. Swamp men are fighting something I can't see. I'm gonna park the carriage and jump in. Stay here." he said, stopping the carriage and jumping down and running forward. The dire wolf followed him, and Sandor Clegane stopped. The massive man, who managed to follow on foot, growled. "Little man, he means it. Stay here." he said, walking forward. Tyrion yelled. "Wait! Who the fuck are you?" he asked. He turned, his large fangs hanging heavy and his pitch black hair around him like a lion's mane. "I have no idea who I am. I'm so fucking old I don't remember my name. But you can call me Lion Phunraz." he said, before charging into the dark ahead.

Tyrion would not sit still. "I am not a child. I am the God Of Tits And Wine. I will not sit still." he said, climbing about, grabbing the horse's reins. He snapped them, and the horses surged forward, and he stumbled back, wobbling. Sandor surged Stranger forward, not about to let them die. He sighed, wishing the little man would control himself. He ducked under a branch of a low tree, and erupted from the forest into a swamp, where bodies were scattered about, and a small war waged ahead. He went ahead, swinging his blade, cleaving a man in two. He spun, cutting a lizard-lion in two. He frowned, disliking the water. "At least it's not fucking fire." he seethed, jabbing his blade into the chest of another swamp man.

Swamp men had shown a secret, and the heads of each hose had shifted, turning out to be therianthropic lizard-lions. With the hundred lizard-lion therians, the swamp lions had a slightly harder time, outnumbered even more. A whine came from the north, and House Phunraz rode in. The girls launched arrows, pelting their ranks. Haakon leapt down, swinging his Arakh and cleaving a therian in half. Sundari stayed on horseback, her horse propelling her about, where she cleaved heads from swamp-dwellers. Vasili wielded the Valyrian Steel axe Vicatarion Greyjoy had. He cut a therian, rolling and swinging again. Maynhard roared, cleaving Howland Reed in two. He spun, cutting the frozen halves in four. The four pieces fell, and he leapt forward, cleaving heads and spraying blood. Oksana wielded her blades, and smirked.

She swung down, clashing blades with a swamp man. Using her other blade, she jabbed him in the side, knocking the blade away from him. She slammed her head into his, and his head snapped back, his neck with it. She moved around, ducking under another blade. She came up, cleaving the arm away and using the other blade to slit the throat. The man fell, and she spun to parry with a spear wife. She swung, cleaving the wooden shaft in two, and the taking the blade of the spear and jabbing her in the skull, dropping her. She swung down, parrying with the therian woman. She swung, cleaving scales away, before three arrows pierced her face, and she dropped.

Cilka spun, swinging her whips. One cut into a man, and the other tore his arm off. She swung one to the side, grabbing an arm. She swung the other, which sliced the chest of a woman. She yanked, pulling the man's arm off and driving the blade stuck in his hand into a child's chest. She snapped the whip back, and swung both down, cutting open a lizard lion. She spun, and wrapped both whips around two of her foe's throats. She swung them, slamming them into the injured therian, knocking him to the ground and killing the men. She flung one whip out, wrapping it around his throat and pulling, taking his head off.

Vasili swung the axe, parrying axes with a man. He pushed, shoving him back before swinging and slicing his throat. He grabbed the second axe, and clanged both together. He ducked under a spear, coming up with one axe and cleaving the man's arm off, and the other slit his throat. He stepped over the corpse, swinging both axes and injuring one of the therians. Haakon came from behind, cleaving the head from the body with his Arakh. He turned, cutting an arm off, and rolling around to stab from behind. He pulled it out, and Vasili whirled around him, swinging the axe at a man, parrying blades. Haakon came around, using his Arakh to stab the man in the face. The brother's ducked under a massive blade, and came up, axe and Arakh cutting into his belly, and his innards feel to the ground.

Katerina swung her Scythe, cutting a man in half. She swung, cutting through a man and lodging the blade in a tree. She cursed, trying to wrench it out. She failed, and had to spin to avoid a blade. She grabbed the sword from his hand, spinning around and jabbing it in his back, through his chest. She pulled it out, clashing with another woman. She shoved back, driving her foot into her chest, caving it in. She frowned, and reached over to her scythe. She grabbed it tightly, and wrenched with more strength, and it tore free. She swung, cleaving the arm from a man. She rolled, jabbing him in the back and killing him.

The carriage rolled into the battle, and Tyrion screamed. "Oh fuck! I should have stayed still!" he screamed, jumping away from the reins, crashing into Sansa and driving them into the floor. A swamp-dweller came forward, and smiled in. Sansa breathed quickly, reminded of a horrible experience in King's Landing. The man was grabbed, and Sandor held him up by the back of his throat. A blade went through his back, and he was discarded. A horse whine was heard, and a riderless horse rode in, ramming through a swamp man. Another swamp woman came from behind with a dagger, and Tyrion placed his hands up. "You don't have to do that. I can pay you enough to make you," he began, but a horse fell headless in front of him. "Oh fucking sweaty cunt on my face shit!" he called, and the woman came forward. A blade came from behind, and the woman's head flew from her shoulders. The body fell forward, giving way for Breinne Of Tarth.

Brienne and Sandor worked together, cleaving foes apart. The Valyrian Steel blade cleaved a man in half, and the greatsword Sandor used swept a line of men away. They spotted their allies cleaving through their foes, but they were exhausted. A lizard lion man came from behind, punching them and knocking them forward. They rolled and stood, brandishing their blades at him. "I've been trying to kill you for a while now." Brienne said, and Sandor laughed. "Don't know why. You can't put this dog down." he stated, and she charged. The therian leaned away, shoving her. Sandor came down, but the lizard still avoided, slicing his arm open. He grunted, dropping his blade. An axe came from behind. With very broad blades, cleaving the man in two. Shango seemed irritated, and his body was coated in white hairs.

Shango growled, feeling his body morphing. He pulled his head back, then jabbed it forward. His face contorted, matching a cat's. Spots covered his white face, and black stripes covered his body. His mane was thinner than his grandfather's, but it was still present. He roared, dropping his weapons. He ran over, slicing men into shreds haphazardly. He grabbed a tree, pulling upwards and roaring. Arrows pelted his back, but he didn't stop. He spun, and men called out, before being silenced by the tree. He lifted it, then slammed it down, wiping hundreds of men out. He tossed the tree wiping more men out as it crashed. He roared, slamming his clawed hand through the chest of another therian. He pulled it out, and bit the snout of the lizard-lion off.

The knight swung his blade, cleaving an arm off. He rolled, coming down and removing a head. He turned half a circle, parrying. Drawing his other blade, a rapier, he jabbed it into the man's chest, killing him. He removed the blades, flicking the blood from them often, and moved forward. Swinging both blades down. He parried with two men at once, and shoved them back. He rolled, slicing the back of one with the curved blade, and jabbing the rapier through the throat of the other. Rolling, the knight came face to face with another therian, and stepped back. Nymeria ran forward, leaping for his throat. He slapped the wolf away, giving the knight time to slam both blades into the center of his chest.

Tyrion received an axe from Vasili, and swung it. The leg of a man came off and he chopped his throat. "Die, you filthy cunt! You smell like my first whore! And that is something I'd rather not talk about right now!" he yelled, ducking under a blade and cleaving another leg off. He came down and screamed. "I am Tyrion Shin Remover! Fear my leg cutting wrath, or I'll cut off your fucking leg and scream my name to the heavens!" he yelled, chopping a second head off. "Die, swamp-y cunt!' he yelled, coated in blood now. He moved to the side of a spear, cutting it in half. "I am a real dwarf, you filthy cunt!" he called, before tossing the axe into a woman's back! "That's for not showing me your tits, you damn cunt!" he called.

Manoush moved with speed. She jabbed with Moonglade, stabbing a man in the belly with the arrowheaded point. She pulled it out, spinning it and coming down, the pitchfork cutting a man's chest open. She rolled around him, jabbing the pitchfork into the chest of a woman. She yanked it out, the arrowhead burying itself into the injured man's chest. She spun, parrying with a blade wielding man. She growled, shoving him back, slamming her fist into his jaw, feeling a satisfying crunch. He stumbled back, where she bit his throat with her teeth, pulling a chunk of flesh from him. Blood erupted, and he fell. Manoush spat the blood out, growling.

The battle was finished with very little losses. Leo Marsimba laughed, happier than a kitten with a bowl of milk. "That was exhilarating! I've never felt so alive." he said, smiling. Maynhard nodded. "That did feel good. Keep everything you find. You were a great help, thank you." he said. Leo shook his head. "I must thank you as well my friend. Thank you for these lands, I am quite grateful." he said, and Maynhard chuckled. Grandpa Lion growled, and sighed. "Next time, no tree swinging. That's a bear thing." he said, grumbling. Shango hissed, returning back to his normal form. "Bad habit. I have a bad temper." he said. They laughed, hopping on their horses. "Meet you back in Winterfell, little man!" Grandpa Lion called.

Upon arriving at Winterfell, the knight leapt down. Tyrion and Sansa climbed out with ease, the carriage basically destroyed, except for a seat and half a door, which Tyrion kicked in. He screamed. "I still have my head!" he called, looking down. He gaped, seeing the large White Walkers, who smiled. Grandpa Lion looked fresh, as if he hadn't just slaughtered hundreds of men, thousands if you count the whole house. Sansa stepped out. She folded her hands, looking as confident as she could, and stared up at Grandpa Lion. "I am Sansa Stark, the eldest living child of Eddard Stark. I Am the heir to Winterfell, and therefore your master, if what I know of your house is true." she said. She heard a laugh, and turned. She gaped.

Bran stood, leaning against Moonglade. "I think you have that wrong. I am Lord of Winterfell, regardless of age. And besides, you married a Lannister anyway." he said. She clamped her jaw shut. "Bran, you know I am older, which makes Winterfell mine." she said, slightly irritated. She heard a laugh, and turned to the knight. He laughed, sighing. "Don't you realize that if the oldest living child of Eddard Stark is the ruler of Winterfell, that would mean Jon Snow would be sitting on Winterfell's Throne?" he said, bowing his head. He flung his now brown hair back, revealing the face of Arya Stark. The huge dire wolf, Nymeria, stood next to her, panting happily.

Hearing a bark, the wolf turned to see her siblings, Summer and Shaggy Dog. She yipped back, trotting off to them. Shango chuckled. "Sansa Stark Lannister. You are human, completely. Arya is a Skinchanger, and a Faceless Man as well. Bran is as well, but he has something else he can do. You have nothing but court skill. And, as a warring group of inhuman barbarians, that's as useful as tits on a brestplate." he said, and his family chuckled. Bran nodded. "Exactly. Osha," he said, turning to the wildling woman. "Keep Sansa with you and Rickon. Take Hodor with you." he said. The wildling woman nodded, leading her off. Grandpa Lion sighed. "Good. Now, to other business." he said.

"First, Aeron will become Maester in the event of Luwin's passing. Next, Brienne of Tarth," he said, turning to the large woman. "You shall be on Bran's Royal Guard, along with Sandor." he said, turning to The Hound. The burnt man nodded, and he turned to Tyrion. "We have something special for you." he said. Tyrion gulped. "We plan on heading to Danerys Targaryen. We plan on marrying her to Shango, and then bringing her here to rule. She's already a Queen in her own right, so we'll need an over seas ambassador. That, will be you." he said.

Tyrion rose a brow. "An over seas ambassador for the future holder of the Iron Throne, Danerys Targaryen?" he mused. Shango nodded. "Either that our your head on a spike." he stated. Tyrion shuddered. "I like my head, and I'd prefer it to not be on a spike." he said. Grandpa Lion nodded. "Good. That means you're in. Honey, would you lead Lord Lannister to his quarters?" he asked. Oksana nodded, leading the little man off. Grandpa Lion turned to Aeron. "How did you get him walking so fast?" he asked. Aeron remained stoic. "A Drowned Man has many secrets. The secrets of water are a few of those." he said, and Grandpa Lion nodded, seeing the water skin he carried.

Shango, Maynhard, and Grandpa Lion sat with Bran, discussing their next move. "I say we march on King's Landing and take the Throne now." Bran said. Shango laughed. "We'd be slaughtered. First, Petyr Baelish is in control of the Trident and The Vale, meaning he has many a man. Likely over forty thousand, if not more. Second, we have Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton coming north, and the wildlings starting a ruckus at the Wall. Winterfell would be ashes by time we reach King's Landing, where over a hundred thousand men will be ready to kill us." he said. Maynhard nodded. "Exactly. What we do is work on their weaknesses. A storm is brewing, and I'm sure that will hold Roose back. We'll send a company led by Haakon and Vasili to Dragonstone. This way, we can turn Shireen Baratheon against her father. So, if we have her on our side, and Stannis dies, Stannis' forces become ours." he said.

Bran frowned. "How will we do that?" he asked. Maynhard laughed. "The little girl has grayscale, which many consider a hideous disease that makes you the target of spite and wildling blades. It afflicts her neck and face, making the skin gray and like stone. My father has a cure, and the cure will be taken to Dragonstone, given to Shireen, and hopefully, she'll turn out to be on our side." he said. Bran nodded. Grandpa Lion hummed. "Dragonstone is near the coast. I'll contact House Rokea for back up. They may need it. Arya also disfigured Jaime Lannister, so Lannister men will be heading north. Too many foes, not enough allies." he mused. He frowned. "I'm heading across the narrow sea. If anyone can help us, It'll be Danerys Targaryen. I may not return for a long while, so do your best without me." he said, and Maynhard nodded.

Later, Shango sat looking at a mirror. His pupils were narrowed into slits, and his fangs felt heavier. His fingernails were also sharp, and he frowned. "I'm becoming like my grandfather. Oh well, could be worse." he said. But, it really couldn't. If this works out, and he does end up on the Iron Throne with Danerys, he doubted the Mother of Dragons would allow herself to impregnated by a man beast with no human form. He shrugged, and hummed. He like meditation, as it always cleared his mind. The candle he had burning burned brighter, and when he opened his eyes, it danced about, and he moved his hand, and the flame rose. He snapped, and it dispersed. In the dark, Shango smiled. A sick, sharp smile, and his white eyes, pupils outlined by vein-y blue, glowed in the dark.


	6. Athfiezar

_Apologies for anything you dislike. This chapter contains sexual content between consenting minors. If you are against this, please wait until next chapter. Tank U_

_I'm back baby! After two oneshots and a chapter of Hold The Heathen Hammer High, Jiro Uchiha returns to this fic! As always, please vote in my polls if and when I have them, check out my other stories, and my new facebook page; Jiro Uchiha: Da Boss Of All Bosses. Thanks for your continued views and support, Jiro._

Bran grunted, walking around his room. It was painful, as he needed to lean heavily on Moonglade. The lance was helpful, but he needed to walk without it. His legs worked fine, it just hurt to use them. He sat on the edge of his bed, sighing. The limbs were too painful to use. He assumed Aeron had sped up his recovery, but he only helped it along. He had loosened the muscles around the joints, so bending and unbending the limb wouldn't cause him pain. But straightening his legs out stretched his muscles, and they became taut, and caused him pain. Aeron warned him that over usage of taut muscle causes them to knot into blindingly painful curs known to the Night's Watch as a Charlie Horse. It received it's name because the first man to document this knot of muscle rode a horse named Charlie. Falling off the horse caused him pain, but no where near as much as the muscles that knotted.

He heard footsteps approaching, and his hand shot to the lance next to him. The footsteps were soft, which meant that the individual was either an assassin, or oddly cat-footed. The feet stopped, and Bran prepared for anything. He looked around his room, remembering how Summer, Nymeria and Shaggy Dog headed out to hunt. A knock was heard o his door, and he furrowed his brow. "Come in." he said, refusing to relinquish his hold on the lance. The door creaked open, and a short figure stepped in. Shorter than Bran, and slightly thinner. The door clicked behind the figure, who turned to Bran with a smile. Bran blinked.

The figure held a feminine face, soft and fair. Short, hastily cropped hair rested atop the head. A lithe figure, almost one designed for quick combat, stood. "Arya? What are you ding here?" he asked, confused. His sister held a boyish aura to her, but for some reason, Bran liked that. At least she wasn't the ideal noble woman, like her sister. Arya smiled. "Hello Bran. I wanted to see how you were doing. I saw you were standing on your own." she said, her voice light as ever. Bran smiled. "Yeah, I was. Aeron helped, but my actual muscles are strained. It hurts to walk a lot. I can stand, but I can't do that for too long wither." he said, almost deterred by that fact. Arya smiled. She walked over to her brother, grabbing him by the hand. "Don't be like that. You'll walk fine soon. I promise." she said, and Bran smiled at her. "Thanks Arya." he said.

He stared into her eyes, and she looked back. He was only a few inches taller, and his shoulder not much broader. She had honed her body for quick combat and assassination. He had yet to even fight once since he began walking again. Then, a daunting prospect hit him. "You're a Faceless Man." he said. She furrowed her brow, but nodded anyway. "Yes, I am. What does that have anything to do with the situation at hand?"she asked. He frowned. "How do I know you're really Arya? And if you are, how do I know you're not on a mission, and I'm the target?" he asked. She recoiled, stepping back at his words. Bran found it odd. She let her head fall, and Bran frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked. Her head snapped up, and he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.

Elsewhere, Shango Phunraz chuckled. "Bad thing to say little Lordling." he said, sighing. He hoped he wouldn't have to intervene, but an angry well trained Skinchanging Faceless Man is something Bran couldn't take. Then again, not many could. He just hoped Bran would be okay. Explaining a dead Stark to his grandfather wouldn't go very well.

Arya was enraged, and Bran blinked. "How dare you! I come to you, after having not seen you since you could walk, and you talk to me like that? How do you do that to me? I care! I wanted to see how your legs were, and spend time with my brother who I haven't seen since my family existed! Rickon is too young, and Sansa is a cunt! Father and Mother are dead, and So is Robb! Jon's at the wall, which leaves you. I wanted to see a breathing family member, to be happy they're alive, not kill them." she said, sobbing as she turned and headed toward the door. She grabbed the handle, but it wouldn't budge. She frowned, pulling harder. She shook it, becoming frustrated. Bran stood in shock, unsure of what to do.

Shango frowned, twirling his fingers. "You should do something. This spell is using energy I could have saved to kill things." he proclaimed, slightly irritated. The boy better get moving, or he'd be in for a world of pain.

Bran hesitantly approached Arya, who stood by the door. He came up behind her, and she froze. She lashed out, her hand crashing into his face. He stumbled back, his strained, weak muscles growing taut. He called out, losing his balance. He hit the ground, grunting. She reached down to her waist, drawing a thin, needle like dagger. She fell to her knees, placing it at his throat. "Explain to me why I shouldn't kill you anyway." she said. He gulped, feeling the sharp blade against his throat. "I can't tell you why. You could, maybe you should, but you'll regret it later. Almost every kinslayer does." he said. She frowned. His eye traveled down to the blade at his throat, and then at the position they were in. She was straddling him, and he could feel the friction from their bodies nearly grinding together. He watched her, and saw the conflicting emotions in her eyes. A tear hit his face, and he wondered what to do. Dare he try and disarm her, a trained assassin? Or should he talk his way out of this?

She looked down at him, and waited for his response. He had basically stabbed her and twisted the knife. She had come to check on his welfare, and he had questioned her motives. It had been cruel. "Why would you say that to me?" she asked. He remained silent. "I don't know." he said, looking away from her. She frowned, and pulled the knife from his throat. She flipped it in her hand, and lifted it above her head. She wanted to end him so badly that she could feel it, taste the grief that would wreck Sansa, the turmoil that would shake Winterfell to it's foundation. He looked back to her, a sense of acceptance in his eyes. "Before you kill me, I have to tell you something." he said. She waited, and he gulped. "I love you. More than I should." he said. She froze, and the look in his eyes was sincere. She looked into his eyes, and watched his pupils dilate. She stood, sheathing the dagger.

She grabbed his hand, dragging him to his feet. He grunted at the pain, his muscles strained heavily. She looked up at him, her sadness, rage, and other emotions gone. The only emotion that she felt was one of eager impatience. She was giddy, and he blushed slightly. "Do you mean it?" she asked. He nodded. "Yes," he said, slowly, "I meant it." he said. She smiled, and hugged him. The embrace caught him off guard, and he stumbled back, falling onto his bed, taking her with him. She landed on top of hi, albeit a little lower. She looked to him, and smiled. "Thank you Bran." she said, happy that she had someone who cared about her. She unwound her arms from him, and he grunted, his legs under her body. She looked down, and chuckled. "Sorry." she said. He chuckled. "It's fine." he stated.

She rolled to his side and pushed herself up, at eye level with him. "Bran, do you think I should let my hair grow out again?" she asked. He shrugged. "You should do what you want. I like it short." he said She smiled. He was honest, and she liked that. He sighed, his breath warm on her face. "I wanted you to know how much I loved you before this war was over, cause I'm not sure if I'll survive, or you will." he said, and she smiled. "How much do you love me?" she asked. He blushed, and looked away. "More than I should. I guess I could say that I love you more than anything else. Jaime and Cersei had an affair under the king's nose, bore three children that he allowed her to say were someone else's. He shoved me from a tower so that I wouldn't tell anyone what I saw, and he has never been with another woman but Cersei. No matter how much we want them dead, that's love. The kind of love I feel for you. Although, I don't think I have the gut to shove children from towers." he said, chuckling. She laughed, and smiled.

Their eyes locked, and they felt an odd compulsion. They leaned in, the warm, soft furs under them shifting with them, and the connected, locking lips softly, but passionately. She pushed him onto his back, climbing atop him, straddling him. They broke apart, and she could tell he was aroused. His pupils were dilated, and the bulge against her ass said as much. She leaned down, kissing him again. It was harder, and the feel of soft lips against each other was enticing. He grunted, slightly bucking his hips, desiring the friction. She moaned in return, allowing him to slip his tongue inside her mouth, which made her moan more. Her hands traveled to his hair, fingers trailing through brown locks as his hands found their way to her soft ass, where he bucked his hips slightly, grunting at the force.

She began to become aroused, moaning as his hands kneaded her ass through the thin leather trousers she wore. His tongue ran across the top of her mouth, and hers ran along the side of his. They broke apart for air, and she placed her hands on his chest. The desire was thick in the room, both siblings aroused. Blood pumped fast through Bran's veins, and he felt alive. He felt like he had more energy than he did since he could walk. He sat up, moving her with him as his hands shot to her chest, where he frantically began working the strings keeping her sheepskin shirt on her body. She placed her hands on his shins, allowing him to work on her shirt without issue. His tongue ran across her collarbone, and her head rolled back slightly, allowing him better access. He nipped the flesh above the bone, and she moaned, grinding her hips against his. He grunted, tearing the shirt from her torso with surprising force. He rolled, flipping her and pushing her onto her back.

His hands shot to her waist, grating against the leather, trying to remove it. She whimpered, his nails digging into her hips slightly. He grew frustrated, and tore at the leather, his strength surprising her. She blushed, realizing that she was completely bare before him. Her chest was flat, so all she had were nipples. Her- Bran hoped- virgin cunt was slick with juices generated from arousal. The lips had peeled back for a second set, darkened and puckered with arousal. Something clicked in him, He didn't know what, and he dropped down. He heard Arya gasp. He didn't know what for. He inhaled the scent of her cunt, relishing in the divine, yet forbidden, fruit. He gave a first lick, locking eyes with her. She blushed, but was unnerved. Were his eyes always golden?

She spread her legs more, moaning as his tongue ran across her puckered lips. The juices he sopped up from a single lick were sweet, and made him desire more. Another coy lick, this time aiming at her outer lips. He was driven by instinct to please her. His cock was as hard as Valyrian Steel, but he had hurt her, and would make up for it. A lick upwards, towards her clit, a hypersensitive nub of flesh, promised that.

He let his lip connect with hers. He licked downward, the juices flowing so well, that they leaked down his chin. A cacophony of moans met his ears, and one of her hands made it to his hair, which made him wonder where the other one was. Was it curled in the furs, a testament to his superior cunt eating skills? Or was it pinching, twisting and massaging her pink nipples? The thought drove him mad. He clamped his mouth over her, prodding her entrance with his tongue. He inhaled in a sucking motion, and she writhed under him. He pushed his tongue inside, lavishing in the tight seemingly ribbed walls that he was met with. She called out, an obscene cry that drove Bran to continue. He pressed his tongue forward, the feeling new and exciting for both of them. Then, he was stopped. He felt a fleshy wall block his path, and Arya hissed when he prodded it. He withdrew, looking at her with lust ridden eyes and juices soaking his mouth and chin.

She looked up at him in awe. He was truly magnificent at this moment. His round chin was soaked, along with his plump lips. His hair was mussed, as though he just got out of bed. His eyes were golden, and the pupils were large and round. He looked to her, exhaling. His tongue seemed thicker, and his teeth were heavy, especially his canines. The sight was intoxicating, and she almost moaned at the sight. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice gruffer, more feral. She looked him in the eyes and nodded. He grunted, more of a snarling growl than an actual grunt, and he untied the leather shirt he wore, removing it from his frame. He wore a cloth shirt underneath, and he pulled it off with ease. Heat rose to her face, the sight of his lithe frame arousing. He backed up slightly, placing his feet on the ground. He wasn't in any pain, but he noticed short reddish hairs on his forearms that weren't there before.

He grabbed the trousers he wore, made of sheepskin, and tore at the string holding them like a feral beast. The trousers dropped to the ground, and Arya looked at him in all of his glory, and he saw her in all of her's. She held herself up on her elbows, her soft face coated in sweat, her eyes filled with lust. Her nipples were erect, and discolored skin was on her collarbone. Her cunt was shinning from a combination of his saliva and her own juices, and puckered and swollen. Her lean legs dangled off the bed, and her short brown hair was coated in sweat. Bran's hair was coated in sweat, and his eyes had become a striking golden color, pupils wide with arousal. His nostrils were flared, and his lips parted, showing heavy teeth. His chin still held her juices, and they dripped onto his chest. Said chest was lean muscled, and covered in a light dusting of red hairs, which weren't there earlier. His lean build trailed down his chest, hips and legs, giving the siblings an almost twin like appearance. His cock was hard, and twitching with arousal. It wasn't massive, but it appeared thicker than normal on his lean frame. She had no idea what to expect, but he seemed driven on instinct.

"Roll over." he said. She blinked, but complied. She rolled slowly, wondering what he had in mind. Slowly, he watched her cunt disappear from his view, and her ass bore itself. The ass was pale, and round. It wasn't huge, but bubbly enough. She held herself up on her hands and knees, and looked back at him with a confused look on her face. He walked forward, and placed his hand on the soft flesh. He rubbed it, kneaded it like a kitten on furs, and knelt behind her. His hardened cock pressed against the swollen lips of her dripping cunt, and he exhaled hard. He pushed inwards, and she called out. It was a high pitched cry that caused Bran to lose control. He slammed in, shattering the fleshy wall and causing her to cry out. It pained her, and blood mixed with her juices. Tears poured from he eyes at the pain, and Bran leaned over her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. The simple act of compassion and love removed all hints of pain from her body, and she pressed herself against him, asking for more.

He straightened, and leaned back, his cock coming from her cunt. He rocked his hips, thrusting back in. She moaned, and he saw slight ripples in the flesh of her rear. This caused him to growl, and he felt his body contort, the feeling both pleasureful and painful. He thrust again, and kneaded the soft flesh with his hands. He grunted, and he heard a pop. His nails lengthened, and sharpened. He removed his fingers from her flesh, opting for a palm like grip. He grunted as he thrust harder and faster, each thrust causing another popping sound. Arya called out, his cock increasing in size as he penetrated her. He felt his face grow longer, his teeth erupting from his jaws into powerful, flesh eating teeth. Hair erupted about him, reddish brown in color. His sense of smell became stronger, and he smelt the scent of her cunt, and her breath as she panted. Her hands gave out, and she succumbed to leaning on her wrists for support.

Arya felt the hair, although, it felt almost too similar to the furs that were scattered amongst the bed, which creaked with force as he fucked her. She was almost afraid of what she'd see if she turned, but the thought of it was nagging on her. She turned her head slightly to look at Bran. Though, this wasn't Bran. The creature hat pounded her cunt into ground meat was a beast. Reddish brown fur covered it's humanoid body, and sharp claws adorned it's large paw like hands. Large paw like feet dangled off the bed, likely adorned with huge claws as well. He leaned over her, and she pushed herself back up, grunting as his now much larger cock pounded in and out of her sopping cunt. She looked to the beast, which held a large wolf's head, larger than any wolf she'd seen. Piercing golden eyes stared in her direction. Her body rocked with the force of his thrusts, as did the bed. Suddenly, she wasn't so happy about the setting, as a creaking bed would likely attract attention. He thrust hard, and she cried out, the thrust hitting that special spot inside her, and causing him to snarl. He bit down on her shoulder softly, but hard enough to pierce the flesh. She cried out, his thrusts meeting that special point each time. It was too much, and she came.

Bran felt the excess juices erupt onto his cock and the already tight walls clench his cock, causing him to snarl. He never felt so alive. He heard a pop, and Arya hissed in pain. Another pop followed, and he had yet to stop thrusting. His legs were repaired, and his stamina increased greatly. Another pop, and Arya's moans became gravelly, more like growls. The bit mark on her shoulder healed, and her skin changed into a shade of gray, and hairs erupted from her back. He saw her hands change, becoming longer, stronger, and clawed. Her face grew longer, and her eyes became a bright golden color. Her back expanded, and her ass grew, his thrusting cock never leaving her shifting form. Her legs followed, and a tail erupted, pressing against Bran's stomach. She pressed herself against him harder, and her retaliated by thrusting as hard and fast as he could.

Amongst the cacophony of snarls, thrusts, and slapping of skin against skin, neither sibling remembered the bed they were fucking on. His cock contracted, and he thrust one final hard time. She clenched around him, another orgasm shaking her. The massive thrust shattered the wooden bed frame, and the fell to the ground, his cock erupting inside of her. He growled, and felt his body returning to normal. The claws disappeared, the fur disappeared, and his limb shortened. Her body remained the same, and he rubbed his face against the gray fur, having yet to remove his cock.

Shango blinked in shock. He had just finished meditating, and checked up on the Stark children. "I said make up with her, not fuck her through the damn bed." Shango sighed. "At least the Stark have nearly no chance of going extinct. Just have to keep Arya safe for four months. Gods, I did not feel like helping to raise pups while at war. Damn wolves. They may be strong and relentless, but gods do they have horrid timing." he said, growling as he exited his room. Time to contact a woodworker about a new bed for Bran.


	7. Rhojosor

_Hey everybody, JIRO here. Sorry for a lack of updates on all my fics, but the past couple of weeks have been hectic, with the heat and everything. Hit 86 here, humidity makes it feel like 96. depending on your surroundings, it can be as low as 65, or over 100. I'm in the latter. I will likely never replicate March, where I added 41 chapters to Pokemon: Hold The Heathen Hammer High, but I'll try my best. Thank you deeply for your continued views and support. As before check out my new Facebook page, vote in polls if and when I have them, and leave a review if you like. Thanks, **JIRO**_

Bran and Arya emerged from their quarters with blushes on their faces, embarrassed by their previous night's activity. They almost didn't look at each other the whole walk into the courtyard, spare a few glances. When they did make it out, Shango was scoping the area with his piercing eyes. He looked in their direction. "What took you two so long? Most of us were up hours ago! What happened, _late night?_" he asked, black brow rose. They both froze, and he chuckled. "It's okay. Everybody has a bad day or night. It can be _rough,_ you know?" he asked, and they continued to be in shock at his apparent knowledge. He laughed. "Don't worry. It's just us. It's not as though we all _heard you_." he said, smirking as he turned to a White Walker. "Frost, how many can be housed at Winter Town?" he asked. The Walker hummed. "If it's in pairs? Three hundred. The Northern Mountain Clans have offered room and board for a hundred, long as they fit in." he said, his ancient icy voice getting it' points across. Shango nodded. "Good. I want the town prepared. We have snow coming in soon, and a lot." he said.

The Stark children followed the large male around Winterfell, unsure of what to do. He turned to them. His eyes scanned their bodies, and they made sure to take in every detail. He exhaled, then turned, gesturing for them to follow with his hand. "Bran, as the Lord of Winterfell, and the technical Warden Of The North, you will be expected to be present every time a negotiation goes down. We have allies coming in, and it's your job to persuade them to our cause." he said, and Bran nodded. He turned to Arya. "As the Lady Of Winterfell, you'll work with the women. Most of these women, if not all, are warriors. However, they'll dislike your skinchanger blood. Work on shifting more." he said, turning and walking away. He stopped nine paces in front of them. "One more thing," he began, "I am unaware of your age she-wolf, but be careful. A wolf carrying is vulnerable to attack. Be weary of when you breed." he said, walking off into the smithy.

Bran and Arya rested by the stables. "What happened last night?" she asked. He looked to her. "What do you mean?" he asked, confused. Arya turned to him. "I mean, with our bodies. We turned into wolves, but yet we were still humans. Why?" she asked. Bran was just as puzzled as she was. He had no idea why they turned into those beast men last night, but they had, and it confused them. "You mean you don't know?" they heard. Their heads shot up, and they looked to see Haakon and Vasili Phunraz looking at them. Bran frowned. "Know what?" he asked. The brothers looked to each other, then laughed. "Oh boy. Looks like we've got a lot of talking to do." Vasili said, and Haakon nodded.

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" Vasili asked. Haakon folded his arms. "In the beginning, their were no humans. There were just therianthropes, or therians. Among these man beast creatures, their was always a council that ruled over them. The head off all therians, and perhaps the oldest thing in existence besides the world, is a Mirror Dragon named Dragogh." he stated, and Bran frowned. "Mirror Dragon?" he asked. Vasili nodded. "Yeah. Any dragon with scales that appear to reflect is called a Mirror Dragon." he stated. Haakon sighed.

"He is the absolute head, also being the head of Reptilethropes, Lizardthropes, and Amphibianthropes. The head of all Caninthropes and Lycanthropes is a Southern Dire Wolf named Wolflord." Haakon stated. Bran frowned. "Southern Dire Wolf?" he asked. Vasili nodded. "Summer, Nymeria, Shaggy Dog, Ghost and Gray Wind are Northern Dire Wolves. Northern Dire Wolves are shorter than southern ones, but they are much bulkier. Southern Dire Wolves are taller and leaner, but are speed based. They normally have brown pelts, and short tails, if any at all. In battle, the southern wolves would have a speed, height and reach advantage against their southern cousins, who have bulk and power." he said. Haakon nodded.

"Yes. Let us move on. Then, there are our kin, the Felinthropes. Led by a Sabertooth cat named Bastet, spelled with a silent t, us cats are the most diverse, adaptable, and promiscuous species of therian in existence. We may lack the ability to fly, breath fire naturally, or have the sheer power our canine cousins may have, but our more athletic design allows us to survive well." he said. He looked to his brother, then back to the children. "Next is Rotten tooth, the leader of the rodenthropes. He is a surprisingly large jack rabbit that managed to kill the previous head, a Capybara named Cana Bara Ya Po. Then we have Shamur, the head of all avianthropes. She's one of two females on the council. She's a bald eagle." he said. Vasili chuckled. "No idea why they're called that. They obviously have white feathers on their heads." he said, tapping his skull.

Haakon sent a stern glance to his brother. "The other female is Nes, the head of the oceanthropes. She is a Great White Shark, and a big one at that. And then, all hoofed animals answer to Ga Lop, whose species has never been discovered. Some saw he's a mustang, others say a Dothraki war horse, and more still say he is a unicorn. Regardless of species, he makes up the final member of the council. They possess their own army, numbering in the tens of thousands, and all therians. But that's today, many years ago they were just god-kings. Of course, you had those chosen few who told them they could be killed, and you had the ones who succumbed to their fate." he said. He inhaled, then exhaled.

"He sighed. "Many years after that, Dragogh and all of the other dragons made humans, a race designed to be slaves. When everyone grew jealous of the human's appearance, the gods blessed them with the ability to change. But, they said, do not change too much. For this body has a limit. You will lose your human form if you overuse your therian abilities. Also, contrary to popular belief, the first change is not at sixteen, or any age that one comes of age. The first time you shift is at about a year old. And you shift from your therian form to your human form. Another thing. Therian pregnancies only last four months, so be prepared if we bring any in. The children are normally two to four feet long at birth, and weigh at minimum fifty pounds. So, someone with lean hips might need to put on weight to broaden them. But that's what the instinctual cravings for food are. Average family of therians numbers six. Now, for your brood," he began, looking to his brother, likely a warning for him to keep quiet.

"It all began when our grandfather crossed the Narrow Sea for the first time, roughly ten thousand years ago. He came upon the lace you call the Neck, and met Lord Marsimba's great-grandfather, Mufash. There, he made an alliance with the swamp lions. They were noticeably bigger than a normal lion, and the males were almost completely blond maned. Light manes are normally considered to be unattractive by most lions, but in a place where no black maned lions exist, you have to settle for the best you can get. From the Neck, he headed north. There, he hit Winterfell, which was ran by White Walkers at the time. He managed to barter with their leader, Tzimisce, for room and board. At the time, he ran into a woman known as Serena Stakku. After he met her, they became friends. A thousand years later, she conceived. After four grueling months, she gave birth to Lucian Stakku. And after another eight hundred years, he managed to mate, and have his son, Brandon. Tzimisce's enemies, a rival tribe of White Walkers, had attacked and wiped out his family. Tzimisce gave Winterfell to our grandfather, and fled." he said.

"He fled beyond the wall, taking his foes with him. Brandon didn't want to be reminded of the horrid time. He enlisted our grandfather's help, and built a wall of massive proportions, and imbued it with wards. He then became known as Bran the Builder, and changed his surname to Stark, to forget those horrible memories. That is where your clan comes from." he stated, looking to his brother. Bran frowned. "That doesn't explain why we turned into those... beasts." he said. Vasili laughed, shaking his head. He brushed his black hair away from his face, and smiled. "Did we say Serena was a slave?" he asked. They shook their heads. Haakon nodded. "Then she was a therian. After further exploration and analysis, our grandfather deduced that The Starks were the last clan of Southern Dire Wolves. If the stark were to fall, the world would be missing the only species that had a right to challenge Wolflord for his spot on the council. Some say he did it on purpose, others say it was accidental, but it happened." he began, frowning.

"And then your brood was born. Arya was a skinchanger, as was Jon, Rickon, Robb and you Bran. This was bad. When therian blood becomes diluted, the product is skinchangers. Therians hate them, and others feel that we are all equal. Of course, that's just the birds and jackals. We personally don't give a shit. You became skinchangers, which discouraged us. We were to protect the dire wolves of the north. If they weren't wolves, we didn't have to protect them. We were ready to abandon you, but our grandfather said not to, and it paid off. Now we have two dire wolves. Hopefully, Jon turns out to be one, and we can work with Sansa, however slowly." he said. Vasili laughed. "The noble girl? She's as human as her mother. I knew Eddard marrying her was a bad idea. We told the damn wolf to find another therian, even if it meant hybridization." he said, and Haakon nodded. His brown eyes held them still.

"You must continue training with this form. If you are masterful enough, you can achieve all five therian forms, and master your therianthropy to levels that are highly uncommon. We can use three forms, and use them regularly so we don't get rusty. Our sisters are at the same level as us, except Manoush trains more than us. Our father is a master of all five forms, as are our grandparents." he said. Bran furrowed his brow. "What about Shango?" he asked. The brothers exchanged a glance between each other. "We don't know. I've never seen Shango shift at all. Maybe once or twice, but nothing to give us an idea of what he can do. According to our grandmother, he's beginning to lose his human form, staring with his eyes. That means he's shifted a lot over a short period of time. We've no idea of his abilities. But, if you see him in action, it's a gift. Us ligers are normally golden brown with dark gold stripes or lighter gold stripes. Vasili is light brown. Father is an orange brown color. And me and my sisters are all golden brown." Haakon stated.

Arya frowned. "Your grandmother has white hair, but she looks young. Why?" she asked. Vasili laughed. "Grandma is a white tiger. Luckily, her human form fixes all issues wild white tigers have." he said. Haakon nodded. "Wild white tigers almost never appear. And when they do, our grandparents have found that most are abandoned... deformed... and cross-eyed. We use magick to fix them, and then they prosper. But, lineage is just as important in animals and therians as it is in humans. Parentage and ancestry dictates your hair color, and eye color, and so on. Because of his unusual eyes, we assume he'd be a white liger, which is just as rare as dragons nowadays." he stated.

A yell was heard, and they turned to see Shango yelling to them. "You four, come!" he called. They stood, walking over to the large male. "Once this storm blows over, you two will lead a company south to Dragonstone. We shall call in House Rokea for assistance, and House Marsimba has the Neck clear for passage at any moment. If you run into Lannister men, wipe them out. Spare no one. Teach the inbred kitten to stay down, and let the bigger cats take care of business. We've set up an ambush for Roose, and he won't likely ever reach the gates of Winterfell. We still have Stannis and his well trained force of twenty thousand. We have more allies coming in for the battle, but whether they stay afterward is up to Bran's negotiation skills. Arya, we've called in a hundred Faceless Men, and they plan on allowing you to lead them. Jaqen will come, as he says that you'll need him." he stated, turning to a massive pile of snow.

The now shifted, and two pools of ash opened up, and looked to Shango. The snow moved more, the pile giving way for a large felid form, and large teeth were bore as the face contorted into a yawn. "Loki, make sure our friends succeed in their mission. Take the wolves with you. Tell them the Starks are fine with it." he said. The massive feline nodded it's massive head, off to speak with the dire wolves. It walked by the four gaping therians, towering over all of them. Vasili gaped. "Where in the fuck did you get a Hrakkar!?" he called, and Shango shrugged. "Grandfather got him for me. He said he'd get all of us pets once we finished our training. Unfortunately, none of you have." he said. Haakon frowned. "And what training would that be?" he asked. Bran and Arya backed up, sensing the growing tension. "It's a secret. I see no reason why you should be so jealous. Loki is a rather affectionate Hrakkar, and would gladly befriend you. Hodor seems to like him." he said, brows raised.

Despite his normally calm nature, Haakon felt his bones pop first. Vasili followed, and Shango frowned. "Are you really going to shift and attack me because I have a fucking pet?" he asked. Vasili growled, his body growing furs. "It's a fucking awesome pet!" he roared. Haakon snarled. "And yet, you won't tell us. It's as though you don't want us to have our own." he said. Shango rolled his eyes. "Cubs, back up. I need both of you alive. Don't die." he said. Both of his brothers had shifted, and stood over ten feet tall each. The sight was shocking and fear inspiring to most of the staff walking around, and even a few White Walkers stepped back. Shango remained still, arms folded behind his back. "You two will never learn. How do you plan on leading a campaign to Dragonstone when you can't even control yourselves. You'll lose your human forms before our grandfather at this rate. And he's over ten thousand years old." he said, shaking his head.

Vasili, being impulsive, charged Shango, followed by Haakon. Shango ducked under Vasili's claw, grabbing his arm and rolling. His weight shifted, and the seven hundred plus pound therian flew threw the air, and into a small wooden structure, destroying it. Shango rolled, slamming the bottom of his palm into Haakon's chest, causing him to stumble back. He frowned. He rolled his body, slamming his foot into Vasili's knee, causing him to fall forward. Shango stepped to the side, and sighed. "Calm down. Both of you." he said, and they both stood. They shook their massive heads and rolled their shoulders, and snarled. "What is wrong with you two? Maybe if you traced your roots back, you'd find warriors. Cats adapt, and some better than others. I chose not to. I studied therianthropy intensely. I found that even if you don't blend in, you can survive." he said, frowning.

They growled, and he frowned. "Is this really what you've come to? Succumbing to jealousy? I should sent you out with Loki, but we need you here. Instead, I shall leave Winterfell with Bran and Arya, and join Loki and the wolves." he said, turning and walking toward the gates. Maynhard walked into the courtyard and frowned. He chose to watch from afar, and intervene if need be. Vasili snarled. "Don't run! Come back and fight!" he called, his voice gravelly. Shango stopped. He spun, his body morphing as he moved. He shifted in seconds, faster than any therian they've seen. He stood much larger than either brother. They stood under six feet tall in human form, and basically doubled in height. Shango stood over six feet tall, and had grown heavily. Putting on over seven hundred pounds, the twelve foot tall, half ton wereliger snarled at them. Coated in black stripes and white fur, he was more reminiscent of a tiger, if not for his pale gray mane. He hissed, a sound more reminiscent of a cackling snarl, and the two brothers lowered their ears and crouched slightly. Maynhard frowned.

"Enough! We have work to do. Shango, go help Loki. You two, train your bodies. We can afford no slack. If you slack off, you will be punished. MOVE!" he roared, frowning. Both brothers shifted back to their human forms, and Shango huffed. His bones popped and cracked further, and he fell down to all fours. He had morphed further, to his animal form. He was the same size as a normal liger. Standing at roughly five feet tall from bottom of paw to top of head, and weighing eight hundred plus pounds, Shango was still a massive beast. He turned to the Stark children. He laid in front of them, turning his large head to them. "Get on. Hold on tight, and remember that you'll still need to shift if you want o live. I don't like using necromancy." he said. He walked over to a wall, grabbing Moonglade in his mouth, and then he darted from the village, off to catch up to the Hrakkar and dire wolves.

Roose Bolton and his ten thousand men walked north, trudging through ankle deep snow. Toward the back of the company, an axe flew through the air, landing in a soldier's head. He fell, and everyone behind him stopped, and some called out. Roose stopped the company, scanning the area. By time he lost ten men, he was assured. They were under attack. But before he could call to his men, they erupted from the snow, a thousand in number, and moved. A massive white lion came from the north, leading three dire wolves, followed by a massive cat with two children on it's back, and a lance in it's maw. The boy leaped down, grabbing the lance and grunting as his body contorted. The girl leapt off, and wielded two thin blades, grunting as her body shifted. The cat itself rose on two legs, growing to twelve feet tall. "We're under attack!" he yelled, drawing his blade and preparing for the worse.


	8. Tawak Stark

The wolves set in first. Nymeria lunged for the throat of a soldier, catching it in her jaws and rolling, breaking his neck as she let go, leaping at another. Summer lunged, clamping a soldier's arm in his jaws, rolling and breaking the arm. Shaggy Dog pounced hard, knocking a man off his feet. He tore viciously into the man, not stopping until after he died. Loki moved similar to a frilled lizard, running swiftly on his hind legs, and using his momentum to release wild slashes with his front paws, which were equipped with six six inch long claws meant for clawing flesh. He snarled, swinging one of his mighty paws, snapping the neck of an enemy soldier. He landed on all fours, and began to pounce on all of his foes. He pounced, clamping his jaws around the skull of a man. He moved quickly, pouncing another. The more heavily armed man was crushed under Loki's weight, and this allowed him to move without stopping. He jabbed his rear legs out, snapping them at a soldier who came from behind. The resulting crunch was satisfying.

Bran had shifted, and was completely unsure of what to do. He decided to let instinct take over, and he felt his body begin to move. He swung his claws, leaving thick, deep wounds down a man's face. He spun, jabbing the lance's arrowhead edge out. He pulled it from his victim, and spun. The arrowhead slashed through the armor of another enemy soldier, and he pulled it out, using the pitchfork edge to stab a foe behind him. A man came at him with a pike, and he stepped to the side, jabbing the lance out. His reach, combined with the near six foot lance allowed Bran to stab the pikeman in the temple. He brought the lance back to him, spinning and swinging in a wide arc. He felt each movement, thrilled at his athleticism. He came down with his leg, shattering the skeleton of a foe.

Arya moved with speed and precision. She rolled around the blade of a soldier, jabbing one of her short, thin blades into his side diagonally. She pulled it out, and he coughed blood, before falling forward in the white snow, staining it pink. She parried with her left blade, jabbing her right blade through the chest of her opponent. Moving past him, her nose caught a whiff of spices, and exotic ones at that. She slammed her foot into the chest of another foe, making her way toward the scent. She jabbed the blade into the temple of another man's skull, rolling to sink the second into the throat of yet another foe. She leaned away from a swing of blade, snarling before she clamped her jaws on the armor on his shoulder. She rolled her head and neck, flinging him across the battlefield.

Shango was irritated from his brothers' antics, and it showed. A man screamed as Shango's massive foot came down. A crunch was heard, and he was naught but pulp in the snow, food for the scavengers. Shango swung down, a mighty backhand that killed three. He grabbed one man by the skull, crushing it as he grabbed him under his arms with two clawed fingers. He swung him, knocking another man off balance. He threw the headless body, and it collided with one Arya flung, killing the injured man. Shango stomped on another soldier and kicked another, flinging him across the field. He roared, the sheer force knocking them back. His body began to shrink, opting for his liger man form, between wereliger and human. He was seven feet tall, and covered in white fur. He still had his claws, but they were smaller. His noise was flat and broad, and his face jutted out slightly. This made him closer to the size of his foes, and gave Shango a bit more pleasure in killing them. He swung his leg, wiping a man's torso away from his legs. Shango leaped back, inhaling deeply as he returned to his human form. "Let's see if my training paid off." he said, setting out into the fray.

He rolled around a blade, slamming his palm into the man's skull. He stumbled forward. Shango ducked another blade, coming up with his fist. The man's head cracked back, and Shango swung his hand across his throat, claws extended. He spun, his leg growing more hairs and increasing in size as he swung it. Knocking two men into the snow, he jabbed his hand forward. It stopped inches from the face of a terrified young soldier, who breathed a hesitant sigh of relief. Shango's body remained still. His arm, however, shifted without the rest of him, and slammed through the young man's skull. Shango retracted his claws, humming. "Not too shabby. Let's try something else." he said, tilting his head. He kicked a man away, his fist connecting with a second. He grabbed a third, and bit down on this throat. It was non fatal, or so he thought. Shango's head shifted, his teeth lengthening, broadening and sharpening. The man screamed, but his screams were quickly overrun by his inability to breath. He sputtered blood, and succumbed to the long sleep.

The head of the thousand strong ambush force, Hamar af Doom, swung his massive weapon, a hammer with a handle of bone, and a behemoth head three feet long, ten inches wide, and two feet thick made of pure granite. He cracked a soldier, and his chest caved in. He spun, slamming the head into a horse, who nearly exploded as his flesh erupted out, causing the rider to fall off, where an arrow whizzed into his chest. Hamar jumped, coming down. He hit the ground with his hammer, the resulting shock wave knocked ten men away, killing two, allowing arrows to go by him, piercing the armor and flesh of each man. Unlike most of their kin, Hamar's men were skilled archers, and used their massive arms and bulky torsos to power heavy arrows. This skill works with disarming fighting styles, allowing the heavy arrows to hit unarmed targets. Hamar glanced to the shadows, using hand signals to signal his men. They knew it was time to drop their bows, and pick up the rest of their weapons.

Arya had reached the scent sooner than she expected. It was the cook, with spices dusting his shirt. He smelt like an exotic cuisine. Her lips began to water, and she backhanded a man from her path. She slammed the blades into a second man. She ripped them out, placing them in her tattered holsters, built into her back. The third took a foot to the chest, then a claw to the face. The fourth, not so lucky. Her jaws came over his head, neck and chest, and she yanked back. His armored upper half tore away, and she flung it across the battlefield. She looked down at the quivering cook, blood coating her muzzle, and exhaled. He shook with fear, trying to hold any final hope of survival in looking unfazed. He failed.

Behind him was a massive boiling pot made from metal, and a fire underneath it. She assumed that meant he was staying while a limited force went on ahead. He attacked her with his only weapon, a ladle of epic proportions. She swiped it away from him, but burnt her hand in the process. It didn't leave any wounds, or redden the skin, nor singe the fur, but it irritated her. She roared at him, and he screamed, a high pitched sound that irritated Arya's ears. It was his undoing. She clamped her jaws around him, and tore him in half. She dropped the upper half of the cook in the boiling water, and looked to her left. Nymeria had her head in his bags, and pulled out a jar of salt. Arya grabbed the jar from the wolf, dumping the whole jar in. She reached her hand in, pulling the salted flesh out. It was dripping with bloody water, the salt absorbing the liquid. She clamped her jaw bone, peeling her lips back as she ground the salty flesh from the bone. When finished, she pulled back a human skeleton from the waist up, and a fully fleshed head. She smiled, closing her eyes and wagging her tail. She licked her lips, and turned to a mortified soldier. She bore her sharp teeth, and he screamed.

Bran swung Moonglade, parrying with a soldier. His leg swept low, knocking him off his feet. He rolled the lance, slamming the pitchfork into his chest. He leaned back, a blade whizzing past his face. He lunged, extending his neck. He bit his foe in the shoulder. It was a crooked bite. His front canines on the left pierced his throat, the force setting his body off. His head erupted from his body, flying high into the air. Blood sprayed, coating Bran, and he dropped the body. He grabbed Moonglade, and turned. He looked every inch the noble werewolf, with clean fur, a shining weapon, and a stern gaze that gave him a whimsical look. But, it was all tarnished when the severed head came down, and crashed into his head. He grunted, stumbling forward. Arya laughed. He caught the head in his hand, and whizzed it at Arya hard. She moved away, and it crashed into another soldier, caving his chest in.

The battle ended, with the thousand strong force on top. They had captured Roose, and had no clue what the ligers planned on doing to him. They entered Winterfell within an hour, and the force spread about the capital with relative ease. Maynhard nodded, addressing them all. "I thank you for coming to our aid. We needed your help to secure Winterfell at least after after the storm that is brewing passes. Wintertown will house three hundred pairs of you, and the northern mountain tribes offered room and board for a hundred pairs. That will leave two hundred of you to stay in Winterfell. You may choose where to go, but I suggest you speak with Hamar about it." he said, nodding as he walked off. Shango laughed. "But for now, let's celebrate!" he called, and the thousand men rang into cheers.

Bran and Arya walked through renovated halls with flat, slick stone floors and broader surroundings for larger individuals. She giggled, leaning against him. "Be careful, a head could fall and hit you at any moment." she teased, and he grumbled. They were coated in blood, and yet they felt better than ever before. They walked the halls, passing some of their new allies. The dwarves were much different from Tyrion. These individuals were five feet tall at the most, and weighed in excess of five hundred pounds of stacked muscle. With armor and weaponry, Hamar Af Doom clocked in at a half a ton. They were also the greatest smiths, amazing craftsman, and fantastic ale and mead fanatics. It helped keep everyone calm during a war. They turned a corner, and came face to face with Sansa, who was, as always, wearing an expensive, intricate gown of some form.

She giggled, elbowing her brother in the side. Bran turned to Arya. Sansa frowned. "You should be more composed. You are a noblewoman." she said. Arya giggled. "Noble? There's no such thing as noble anymore. When you change faces to rescue a fugitive dwarf and his powerless wife, it matters not of your birth, everyone is a smuggler. Look at Davos Seaworth, the mighty Onion Warrior. He smuggled people and illegal goods about for a long time. And now, he's Stannis Baratheon's second in command. Noble is just a term. It means nothing." she said, laying her hand on Bran's chest. He grumbled, being slightly uncomfortable with her affections. Sansa wouldn't quit. "Maybe you'd think differently if you actually were raised as a noblewoman." she said, her tongue sharp. Arya frowned.

"Maybe instead of frolicking in courts and gardens, you actually got your hands dirty like I have, we wouldn't be in this mess. If you were more like me, you would have never been betrothed to Joffery, and father would have never headed south." she said. Sansa appeared unfazed, but Bran knew better. Sansa frowned, watching Arya shower Bran with affection, in a way that harshly reminded her of Jaime and Cersei, which tormented her. "You haven't been through have the things I have." she said. Arya froze. She pushed Bran back slightly, and the male knew he had to back up. "Excuse me?" she began, a look of irritation in her eyes.

"I watched my father lose his head, had my hair cut, my brother lost his ability to walk, I was disguised as a boy and sent towards The Wall. I never made it because Lannister bannermen ambushed us and killed a large number of us with minimal losses. I was taken captive by Tywin Lannister, forced to be his serving girl and avoid being recognized by the likes of Gregor Clegane, Petyr Baelish and other Lannisters while trying to escape. My only hope was Jaqen H'ghar, an escaped Lorathi prisoner turned Faceless Man. He managed to get me out, where me and two of my friends were split up, and they're gods know where. I went to the House Of Black And White to train to change my face at the turn of a corner, or the bow of a head. All while being kidnapped and forcibly allied with The Hound, and ended up here. All the while, I spent sleepless nights reciting the names of the people I would see dead in my lifetime." she continued, appearing taller than normal.

"I had to sit there and watch Jaime Lannister and Cersei Lannister prosper as the only person I ever loved was strapped into a basket every morning to move about. Do you know what it was like to wonder if you could ever have children with the person you love? Do you know what it's like to wonder if your children will ask why then can walk, and their father can't? Do you know what it's like to wonder if your children will be deformed because they're inbred? What it's like to be a Stark who wants to love a Stark? You wouldn't because you're more of a Tully than anything. I've been through much more than you, you wretched cunt. Don't forget it. You were in the court of the enemy, and you didn't make a single move against them. To me, that's treason, Lannister." she said. She turned on her heels, and made to leave. Bran followed, and partially wished he had his lance with him. Sansa remained stoic on the outside, but was likely dead on the inside. Bran made sure to watch carefully, as he'd have to intervene if anything happened.

"For someone who hates the Lannisters so much, you seem almost too keen to follow in their incestual footsteps.' she said. Arya froze. Her feet were soaked in blood, allowing for her to nearly slide around. She spun, her anger allowing her to shift just as fast as Shango did. Sansa stepped back at the sight, unnerved. Arya snarled, and Bran hesitated. He looked to her. "Don't do anything stupid. I'm bigger than you." he said. She snorted, blowing him off. She surged forth, and Sansa stumbled back. Arya pounced, holding her sister firm. Her teeth sunk down deep into her shoulder, with dark intent. She screamed, and Arya removed her jaws. She shifted back, looking up at her with a sick smile. "There. I always hated the Tullies. Damn fishmongers. Now, you're a real Stark." she said.

She turned, and Bran watched her. She stopped next to him, turning to her sister. She kissed Bran's cheek, hugging him. "And for your information, the Lannisters have shit on us." she said, taking her brother and walking out. Sansa wanted to scream, but found no reason to. She looked to her shoulder, which surprisingly didn't hurt. The wound was nearly gone, leaving only two faint scars. She felt fine, as though she wasn't just attacked and bit by her rabid therian sister. She hoped that the bite was an illusion to scare her. The reality would be far worse.

Shango hummed, happy that the dwarves arrived. He sat with Fafnir, Vlad, Hamar Af Doom and Tzimisce, discussing what to do with Roose Bolton. Fafnir laughed. "I suggest that we sell him to the highest bidder. Make as much profit as possible." he stated. Shango frowned. "All that wealth would go into Bran's private stock, which is inaccessible to the likes of you." he said. The dwarf huffed, his skin darkening, and beginning to form scales. Shango frowned, and the dwarf calmed. Tzimisce sighed. 'Regardless of what we do to him, it has to make a mark on everyone else." he said. Vlad scoffed. "Make it quick. Impale him." he said, sharp canines flashing. Shango blinked. "That works. I'll go grab him." he said. He stood, giving last minute instructions. He headed out, weaving his way through the halls and floors of Winterfell, down to the dungeons. He crept through, and heard screams.

Shango walked faster, frowning as the screams didn't stop. He began to run, and noted the location of the screams. He skidded across the floor in front of Roose Bolton's cell. He saw the door open, which he hadn't done. He walked inside, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He gaped. Roose Bolton laid, writhing in pain, missing an arm. He knelt down next to the injured Lord. "What happened?" he asked, not that he cared much. "She bit me! The damn girl bit my arm clean off." he growled out. He was taken from his cell to the courtyard, where he had fainted. He dragged the injured man along, wondering just who had rendered his arm from his body. It mattered not, though someone would likely face repercussions. He got him to the chopping black, where executioners remove heads. Instead, Roose was splayed over the stone, belly down. A young soldier was charged with a spear, to finish him off on command.

Shango yelled. "3...2...1...Launch!" he called, and the spear whirred through the air. The wielder stopped short, jabbing the spear through his ass. The wind blew just right, and the chill of a heavy storm was upon them. The spear soared through his colon, piercing his intestines, lungs, heart, throat and out the top of his head, leaving his face contorted in pain for all eternity. Shango hummed. "Well, he's royally fucked for eternity. Prop it up!" he called. They scrambled to lift the spear up higher, and get masons help to nail it in place. Shango nodded. "Good. Now Stannis knows what he's up against. Frost, fetch me my brothers. It's time for them to head south. Shireen could use our help, and her mother can use some assistance heading out of this world." he said. Frost frowned. "You want your brothers to assassinate Shireen's mother?" he asked. Shango shook his head. "Gods no. I want Haakon to do it. He's the calm one." he said.

Frost nodded, and set out. Maynhard walked up, standing next to his son. "How's Arya?" he asked. Shango snorted. "Odd. She appears to have acquired a taste for human flesh. A more bold attitude, and affectionate. It's all pointing to one thing. Though I didn't think it was possible at such a young age." he said. Maynhard nodded. "To us, she's an infant. But yet, her human half has intervened. Remember, dire wolves aren't normal. We should keep a close eye on her. If she does give birth, you will expend any amount of energy to heal any possible deformities at birth." Maynhard stated, and Shango nodded. "Of course father. I'll make sure to watch the pup. Just like any Phunraz. What worries me is the little dragon across the sea. And the men heading toward her with a dragon horn." he said, frowning out onto Winterfell's large expanse.


	9. Honor Of A House

_Jiro here. I think this chapter is going to be quite long. I'm aiming for 4.5k+. Trying to improve my writing. I think it could be much better. I'm trying for more detail and thinking__ that'll increase the length of my chapters, I must warn you. I know many people who would stop reading fanfiction if it got too long each chapter, and I'm hoping you guys aren't said individuals. __**JIRO**_

Danerys Targaryen heard the horses from across the dunes. She was stranded on a beach, with Drogon next to her. The dragon was larger than she'd have thought, and larger than his brothers. The other two dragons were lost to her, and her current situation didn't help any. The dragon, coated in blood red and midnight black scales, laid injured. A cut injured his wing, the membrane torn and becoming filled with hot sand. If the sand wasn't enough, the scorching heat and lack of food and water would kill them almost as quick as Jhaqo would. He was leading a huge Dothraki horde of 20,000, and she could hear them coming towards her, slowly, almost slow enough to make her afraid. It was as though he meant to torment her, bringing 20,000 men, woman and children over the dunes to capture or kill her. She had seen the horde from the sky, before they crashed. She grunted, trying to wake the dragon to have him swim, or fly away. She nudged him, but he was completely unconscious. It seemed hopeless.

Not only did he have the wing injury, the dragon bore many other wounds as well. A spear had somehow pierced his hide, leaving a torn wound in his thigh. The scales were gone, and swollen red flesh poured blood, and grew irritated from the scorching sands that filled the coastal beach. The horses appeared to pick up in speed as she looked at a large gash on his side, almost as long as her arm. She felt her eyes water with hopelessness. She would never secure the Iron Throne, and never claim her birthright. All she wanted was to be Queen of Westeros, and now she saw what a folly that was. Her only dragon laid bleeding to death, and she was injured and weak. She wasn't a warrior, she wasn't even a good diplomat. She used fear to get what she wanted, and how afraid of her would Jhaqo and his 20,000 men be?

She turned, and leaned against the scales of the dragon. Tears flowed from her eyes. She would miss Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal, and fuck, she'd even miss Jorah. She felt the black blood oozing from his wounds against her back, and closed her eyes. She inhaled, preparing for an end that never came. She was all but broken in spirits when a shrill cry erupted, jostling the dragon, but not waking him from his stupor. Another followed, and then a third sound she wasn't sure belonged. A cat's roar.

Ireng Wedhi, leader of the Midnight Fangs, an elite group of assassin warriors from the Garden of Bones, moved as fast as he could. His dagger, a foot long, serrated bladed object made from titanium, and laced with steel glyphs to strengthen the weapon. He rose from his crouched position, pulling the serrated blade across the throat of a Dothraki warrior. Another came at him with an Arakh. He ducked underneath, pulling the serrated edge up, gouging a large gash from his nape to his navel. Blood poured out, and his heart hung limp in his chest as the body fell. He spun, swinging the clean, normal edge to block a second Arakh. He clicked his tongue, and a knife flew through the air, burying itself in the man's chest. He stumbled back, where Ireng slammed the blade into his throat. It went through the chin's soft flesh, through the tongue, and out through his crown. He tore the blade out, splitting the chin bone in twain, ducking under an Arakh swing from horseback. He reached down to his hip, where a leather belt was strapped. He pulled a throwing knife, with a sturdy handle and a large ring to pull it from his belt easier. He flung it, the diamond shaped blade burying itself in the back of the man's head.

He spun, swinging his fist at a child. His fingers popped and cracked, and claws erupted to tear the child's face in four. The boy fell, and a scream rang out. The assassin silenced the screaming woman with his fist. He unleashed a roar, and his five hundred brothers erupted onto the field, surrounding the massive horde. His body had contorted, his nose broadening and flattening. Whiskers erupted from his face and forelegs, and his pupils thinned to slits. His ears moved to the top of his head, and became rounded. Dark furs, appearing purple in the sunshine, erupted from every part of his vbody, and a tail erupted from his back. His feet stretched and pulled, becoming more akin to a cat's back legs, and he crouched. He leapt, catching a rider about the throat with his claws. The man's head flew off, and rolled to the ground. It landed by a pair of huge feet. A massive black cloak covered the feet of the monstrous individual, and came up so far, it seemed like a giant. A long, flowing hood was peeled back by a pair of hands hidden by the sleeves, revealing a face ancient in appearance. The ancient figure smiled, reaching to his back. He drew a huge blade, split in three at the end, and spun. Ten men and horses fell, blood raining down from the heavens. Grandpa Lion smiled, and unleashed a battle cry.

Danerys was shocked to hear the screams, followed by the clashing of blades. Dare she cross the raised dunes and see? And leave her dragon dying and alone? No, she couldn't. She prayed to whatever gods existed that she leaves this day with her dragon. Another mighty scream was heard, and she recognized this one. It was Jhaqo. What had happened to him? She heard hooves, and her breath caught in her throaty. The head of a horse came up, and the mighty beast leapt over the dune. It stopped in front of her, as if it were happy to see her. She froze, unable to breath. Because on the back of this horse, was half a man, and the man was Jhaqo.

Another swing of his foot, and a horse riding man fell, and in pieces. The horde had dropped by half, and continued to drop. Humans were not allowed to live, and neither were horses. The men were dealt with brutally, evisceration, brutalization, bifurcation, decapitation, and nearly any other pain causing ation. Woman were permitted quick deaths, and children too young to understand were spared, but only under the Lion's orders. Ireng didn't like the command the Lion took, but enjoyed the chance to see a dragon again in his lifetime. And, not many people can afford the fee the Midnight Fangs charge. The Lion promised them more freedom than what they had, and even military status, which was what Ireng was going for. In return for this, the Midnight Fangs would become the greatest militants on this side of the Realm. A man came from behind with his Arakh. Ireng scoffed, slamming his heavy tail into his chest, killing him.

Grandpa Lion smiled. He swung his fist, and the horse buckled, the rider flying from it's back. The animal was felled, dropping to the floor like Roose Bolton's men. He had no doubt the dwarves were enough to defeat him, especially if they had help. Rolling, he swung his fist, extending his claws, and tore a horse's face. The Dothraki always rode horses, making them easy targets for taller assailants. He retracted his claws, rolling and slamming his foot into a horse's flank. The equine beast whined, and he felt the snap of it's ribs. He extended his claws, hooking them into the horse's flank. He stepped to the side, tearing the horse away from the rider, watching the man fall. He walked over calmly. A man came from his side. He dismissively backhanded the man, snapping his neck with the force. He stood next to the felled man, and saw a horse rider come at him. He sighed, turning his expansive body, face blank and devoid of emotion.

He stepped back, placing his foot on the felled man's chest, ignoring his screams for mercy or quick death. He used him as a trampoline, ricocheting off his chest and grabbing the horse about the face. He rolled, throwing the horse further into the fray. He watched the horse's neck become strained, and then pulled tout. Snapping and cracking was heard, and then the horse's head remained in his hands as the rest of the horse flew about, crashing into people. He turned, frowning as he noticed a lack of competition. "Already?" he grumbled, walking through the destruction. "How many did I kill? Three hundred? Six? More, less?" he wondered, shrugging. He noticed a body quivering body, and frowned. He walked toward the body, and saw a hair on his chest, which was hairless and bare. The hair was pale and white, and slightly thinner than Dothraki hair. He sighed, picking up the body and discarding. He turned, blinking at the creature found quivering underneath.

The Gates of Winterfell were left open, and the White Walkers stood in two lines, heavily armed, in front. House Phunraz lined up next to the Starks, and were wary about today's arrangements. A shrill cry was heard outside the gates, and Shango couldn't help but crack a smile. Haakon frowned, and Vasili chuckled. Maynhard remained stoic, as did his wife and mother. The girls were indifferent, but disliked the cold, despite having spent their whole lives in the North. The cry of the Storm Dragon was heard. The creature, now roughly the size of a large house cat, coiled around Shango's neck, yawning it's boredom away. Another shrill cry was heard, and the trampling of footsteps were heard. Blurs of gray came flashing by, riding into the massive capital and spreading out in a formation meant for war. Each creature was six feet tall, and likely draconic in heritage. They were basilisks, quick, jungle born lizards with special webbing that gave them the ability to run on water.

Each creature had four foot long legs, with clawed feet on the end. The feet were flat, and covered in gray scales. Each claw wasn't huge, more designed for traction than killing. A three foot long tail of impressive thickness rolled behind them, twitching like a cat. And, with four foot long necks, the reach of these creatures was impressive. Flat faces held many sharp teeth within their maws, and an expanding chin for spewing acid. Around their necks was frill like scales, red in color. Their pale gray eyes pierced through the audience, and the dire wolves peeled their lips back. They were much like lizard-lions, but with a dragon's head and neck. And atop these great beasts, were one hundred and fifty sturdy riders of impressive size. They dismounted, turning to the nobles and warriors in front of them. The leader, strikingly different than the rest of his kin, chortled.

"You are Brandon Stark? That is quite amusing. I assumed you'd be as powerful of a man as your father, and you're still a boy." He said, baring sharp yellow teeth. He was a foot taller, and had green skin instead of gray, like the others. On his broad forehead he had four tiny horns, and long black hair torn apart into dreadlocks. The rest of his kin ranged from six to seven feet tall, and nearly as wide. Gray skin, much like a basilisk, covered their bodies, and strikingly humanoid features graced their visage.

Their noses were bulbous, and their chins had a cleft, but other than that, and large lips, they were nearly human. They had no brow hair, just a jutting ridge, much like an ape. Their eyes were set farther in than a human's, which helped in battle. Stacked, heavy muscles covered their powerful frames, and sharp, yellow teeth were a signature of theirs. Bran appeared nervous. He opened his mouth to speak, and the green one dismissed him with a hand. He turned to Maynhard. "Maneless One, why have me negotiate with a child? Why not an adult, or at least one who has seen a time before Robert Baratheon's rule?" he asked. The cat frowned. "As the Lord of Winterfell, Bran must conduct all of our official business. If we forget that, he will become obsolete, and we shall not need him anymore. And in that moment, we will have betrayed our vows to House Stark. And tarnished our honor. And that is all we have. The most important thing. The Honor Of A House." He said. The horned one nodded.

He turned to Bran. "I hear you are a former skinchanger, and now a wolf. I must say that is impressive, but not enough. In order for you to secure the mightiest band of orcs in all of the Realm for this entire battle, you must produce something for us. If you can do this, that proves you want us as allies, and not tools." He said. Bran nodded. The green orc laughed. "I want you to produce a hybrid for me. Not of your loins, but of fae descent. I could never stand my elven kinsfolk, and the chance to see their arrogant purity tarnished with a fae hybrid would give me great pleasure. Produce a fae hybrid by time the man called Stannis is dead, or we shall head across the Narrow Sea and work as Sellswords." He said, arms folded.

Bran was puzzled, as was most everyone there. Oksana and her son frowned, and Shango smiled. It was an odd smile, as though he knew something. Shanog laughed. "You realized how absurd that is? Even the mythical Halflings, elf and human hybrids, are shrouded in secrecy, as most are without fae ears, and some without magick at all." He said. He green orc shrugged. "An issue for you and the Lordling. The Meso Tastera have no businesss with you. We can war without a lord at our head, that's what a war band does." He said. Shango sighed. "Very well then Wolverine, you shall have your hybrid." He said, a confident smirk on his lips. Haakon and Vasili weren't so sure.

The brothers snarled, and the basilisk snarled back. 'That's bullshit! There's no cuntfucking way that we can give him that bullarse!" Vasili called, feeling his bones crack. Haakon nodded, following his brother. Both shifted cats charged the orc, who roared a spittle ridden cry. Everyone stood back, and the battle began with a mighty crash.

Vasili was punched in the gut, stumbling back. The orc swung his leg up, striking Haakon's leg. He stumbled back, and the orc rolled, driving his elbows into the belly of Vasili, knocking him to the ground. Haakon came from behind, raking his huge claws down the orc's armored back. The armor, made of hide, tore away, and shallow cuts were left in his back, making him stumble forward, where a recovered Vasili kicked him across the face. He grunted flying through the air and hitting the ground. He rolled, springing to his feet. He panted, and spat blood from his mouth. None interfered, and Shango held a look of boredom on his face. He tilted his head back, looking at the dragon coiled around his shoulder. "You got the right idea. These two bore me." He said to the dragon, who had dozed.

Both brothers heard the assertion, and fumed. They charged with renewed vigor, abandoning all control. Shango erupted onto the field, growing tired of their antics. He leapt, his foot crashing across the feline face of Haakon, driving him into Vasikli, knocking them down. They both stood, but something flew through the air. A chain, with a curved dagger on the end, flew around their throats and pulled taut, slamming them together. A red blur flew through the air, landing on the ground with a fluid grace. Shango smiled. "Not bad Z. Could have been worse." He said. The figure chuckled.

She was young. Or, at least she looked the part. Her long white hair was tied into a pony's tail higher on her head, in a thick gold band. Her eyes were piercing and golden, and her face was soft, smooth, and without a blemish. Her skin was a pale purple, and all of her skin held the same shade. Spiked bands held her outfit together, and the traveled up to her slim, smooth throat. They came down, and wrapped around her waist in three bands, and a sheath for her weapon was upon her back. Red cloth was about her body everywhere, acting as a dress. It was expertly woven, and blood red, and odd color for cloth. It was over her ample breasts, tucked under the armor only to emerge lover down, wrapping around her waist and over her core, hanging down. She wore boots of metal that traveled half way up her thighs, with spikes likely as long as Bran's hand on the bottom. She was shorter than the rest of her kin, who were all around six feet, and of similar builds.

Her waist wasn't slim, but thick compared to her thin, and her hips were broader. She held a cruel smile on thick, sensuous lips. A lyrical, yet spine chilling voice came from these lips, and the chain came from around the necks of the therian boys. Her kin slowly appeared from the shadows, up on the towers. Similar appearances were common, and a few had black hair. Some had white eyes, others having pure black orbs of abysmal nothingness. She sighed. "You cats have always been fun to play with, but these two are like rabid dogs." She said. Shango chuckled. "We cats aren't meant to be played with. We can be playful, but you should be well aware of what we can do." He said. She nodded. "Oh yes. Your gifts are impressive. Infact, they are similar to dark elf abilities." She said. Shango nodded. "True enough. Now back to business." He said, sighing.

He turned to the green orc. "Your hybrid will be presented. Until then, I would like to request that you assist in building more towers and quarters for Winterfell. We have a large number of allies, but nowhere to house them. I am in high doubts that the Northern Mountain Clans will allow a hundred and fifty orcs room and board. And we are nearly packed here. If you wish not to, then I'm afraid you'll have to find your own shelter for at least three nights." He said, and the orc nodded. "We shall assist. Something to do with our hands is always nice." He said, and the others grunted in agreement. Shango nodded. He turned to his brothers, frowning. "You two, follow me." He said, and looked to his father. The man nodded.

Shango stood outside the gates with his brothers. "What is your fucking problems? You've been impulsive and irritable for gods know how long." He said. They both frowned. He sighed. "You're ligers. Which means you have lion and tiger instincts. You want to swim alone, and yet run a huge family far away from water. This I understand. I'm a liger too. And remember that I'm white, which is a bad thing in the wild." He said. They both exhaled through their noses. Shango's hand shot out, crashing against both their faces. It came back, a backhanded rebound, and another stinging crack was heard. "Either you quit the shit, or when we win this war, you'll be posted as shit shovellers for dragons. Do I make my-fucking-self clear?" he asked. Neither brother nodded. Shango grew irritated. He looked to them, white and blue eyes holding anger.

"Fine. Blow me off. But know this. Either you quit your shit and run right, or I'm ousting you from the pride, and you can build your own. I understand how being such a diverse hybrid therian can affect your mind. I was a therian long before both of you. We may not be that far apart in birth, but in terms of knowledge and size, you're children compared to me. I care about you, and don't want you dead because you're being reckless." He said, concern in his eyes. Vasili frowned. "We can care about ourselves." He said, sounding offended. Shango frowned. He turned his back, and walked toward Winterfell. He stopped, and looked to a large boulder near the gates. He hummed, and turned to them. "I'll leave you be, and forget all about your shit, if you can avoid every single rock I throw at you." He said. They nodded, frowning.

_This is a waste of time and energy. Pointless as shit._ Shango thought, angered. He stomped the ground, and the boulder flew into the air. She shot his open hands out, and the boulder stood in place, midair. He balled his hands, opened them, bent his fingers like a cat's paw, and finally jabbed them out like a blade. The rock split into many tiny pieces, and the shards flew rapidly at the brothers. Haakon jumped away, but the spray was too broad, and his leg was struck. Vasili jumped over the spray, but a rock bounced off a tree at an upward angle and struck his hand. He hissed, and landed. Shanog nodded. "You fail. Plain and simple. Now if you excuse me, I have business to attend to." He said, disregarding them and walking into the capital of the north.

He sighed, sitting at a table with the elf and Wolverine. Bran was also there, as was Arya and Tzimisce. He looked around the table. "Anyone else have annoying siblings?" he asked, irritated. Bran and Arya laughed, and the elf chuckled, a lyrical sound. "My brother can be irritating. His lack of finesse gives elves a bad name." she said. Shango laughed. "Oh yeah. Coro, right? Coro the Clumsy elf. Sounds so bizarre." He said. The orc chortled. "I had brothers. They grew too soft, and we ousted them. Never cared for them much, but I believe you could call them irritating." He said. Tzimisce sighed. "I never had any kin. We White Walkers are normally single births." He said. Shango nodded.

Grandpa Lion grew irritated on his trip over the sand dunes. The creature had yet to stop thanking him. If the creature didn't quit it's yammering, he was almost sure he'd break it in twain. He stood on the dune, looking majestic as ever, hood on, with five hundred bronze skinned warriors lined up next to him. They walked down the dunes, and saw the fear on Danerys Targaryen's face. Grandpa Lion disregarded it, and stopped the forces fifty paces from her. "Danerys Targaryen. Nice to finally meet you." He said, peeling his hood back. She gaped, in shock at his almost inhuman features. She stuttered, managing to sound dignified enough. "Who are you?" she asked, raising her voice slightly. "I have no idea. I'm so old that I don't remember my own name. But you can call me Lion Phunraz. I have come to help you secure the Iron Throne, and tear your enemies into shreds." He said nonchalantly, as though he had practiced the lines. She frowned. "I don't believe you." She said. The old man sighed. He turned to a bronze skinned man.

" Akhenaten, heal the wyvern." He said. The man frowned, but complied. He walked over, strong, powerful strides, and stood next to the dragon. He sat in the scorching sands, crossing his legs. His body began to contort, and she backed away. His body took the shape of a panther, except he was also a man. He began to glow green, and the dragon followed. She watched in awe as the scales began to grow back after the flesh mended itself. Sand was drawn from the wound, and replaced with a flat, scar free surface. The dragon made a noise, and opened his eye. She smiled, and turned to the cat man. He stood, his form human again, and walked back to his place. The massive one in the cloak smiled. "There. We healed your dragon. We can heal you, and help you reach the Iron Throne. All you have to do is one thing." He said, and she frowned. "All you have to do is marry my eldest grandson. Simple enough, correct?" he asked. She frowned.

He sighed. "Look. By time my grandson is done growing, he will be of similar size to me in his human form. His therian form, which was what Akhenaten took, will be roughly fourteen to sixteen feet in height, give a few." He said, shrugging. She became uneasy. He hummed. "I see you are not persuaded." He said. He turned to Akhenaten. "Can you do me a favor? Summon a vulture, I want this thing," he said, pointing to the creature he spared. "In Winterfell before week's end." He stated. The man nodded, and set off to summon the carrion bird. He turned to her. "Tell you what? If you marry him, and permit him to have more than one wife, which is customary of therian males, especially cats, I'll make you a therian. Any kind. Wolf, lion, tiger, bird, cat, dog, fish, lizard, whatever. And I'm throwing the Iron Throne in for free. I have friend that know the location of your other dragons, and my house has one of their own in Westeros." He said. She seemed stumped. She hesitantly asked. "Any kind?" she asked. He smiled. "Of course. As long as it exists, or I can understand how it's plausible." He said. She looked to the red scaled beast behind her, who shook sand from his mighty body. "Even a dragon?" she asked. He looked to her.

"A dragon? That would take some doing. Are you on board if I manage this?" he asked, a smirk on his face. She nodded. "Yes. If you can make me a dragon woman, I will truly be the Mother of Dragons." She said. He nodded. "Yes. But your husband is a cat, making your children scaly winged ligers, or cat dragons." He said. She frowned. He laughed. "Come. Let's see if we can make you a dragon." He said, well aware that Dragogh wouldn't be too pleased with this development.

_Meso Testera: pronounced Me-so Tes-terra._


	10. Splitting The Narrow Sea

_Another pair searing hot days. 93 degrees. Gods it needs to rain out here. I hope this chapter is decent, as I'm coated in too much sweat to care. Wanted this up yesterday, but the heat was too much, as the weather here is wacky. Pouring and 60 one day, 100 and humid the next. I hate dat shiet. Please check out my facebook page, Jiro Uchiha: Da Boss Of All Bosses, for more misc. info, such as photos of the orcish mounts, and of the elven leader, if and when I can post them. Thank you very much, JIRO_

Shango blinked again. He looked at the creature the giant vulture had sent, and frowned. Was this a joke? The bird has responded to his questions with decent answers. The creature was sent by Grandpa Lion, only because it irritated him too much. Shango looked it over, tilting his head. The creature was likely only slightly over five foot tall, with a build not too different than Arya's. He furrowed his brow. Snow white hair hung, framing the round face of the creature. Regardless of age, it held a youthful face, with soft, effeminate features. Big orbs of black were set into the face, giving an almost alien look. Shango sighed, noticing the creature's garb. The creature wore a loose robe that hung off it's shoulders, belying a possible usage for pleasure. The creature's figure was wiry, so the being was obviously flexible, and was likely trained in exotic dance if his suspicions were correct.. Shango grunted.

"Come along. Let's find you some proper clothing." he said, turning. The creature made a squeaking noise. Shango's vision allowed him to see an odd set of teeth. Each tooth was slightly more jagged than it should have been, and the canine's were much larger than normal. The creature hung it's head, and followed three paces behind Shango. He stopped, and it stopped with him. He looked down. "You should walk next to me. This way I won't lose you." he said softly. The creature kept it's head down, but walked up next to Shango. The liger flexed his nostrils, his therian sense of smell picking up miniscule details about the creature. First, the hormonal musk around every creature. This creature was male, and Shango determined an age under twenty years. He smelt a light, almost woodland scent, which was characteristic of the fae, and the distinct scent of desert sands.

This scent combination was a signature of the kobold, almost phantom like fae with massive ears for their frame. But, this one's ears weren't huge, but average. He smiled. As he walked, he wondered just what clothing he'd wear. Bran shared his wardrobe with Arya, and the creature was too tall for Arya's wardrobe. That left Sansa, who owned nothing but dresses. And, as amusing as it might be to embarrass the little creature, he wouldn't stoop that low. He opened the door to his chambers, instructing the small creature to have a seat, which he did. The room was small, and not very spacious, and, he noticed, lacked a bed. He turned to the big man, who rummaged through a closet. "Wh-Where do you sleep, M-My Lord?" he asked. Shango paused, his glacial eyes peeking back at the creature. "I don't. I meditate in lieu of sleep. And you don't need to call me My Lord, I'm barely a nobleman." he said, chuckling as he continued.

The creature spoke again, his high pitched voice the only noise in the room. "Wh-What would y-you have me call you?" he stuttered out. Shango frowned, disliking that such a creature, regardless of age and upbringing, could be reduced to such. He stood, taking a seat on the soft leather rug, made of boar skin, next to the creature. "My name is Shango Phunraz. I would prefer you to call me Shango. If you want to make up a nickname for me, that's fine. Just as long as it's not derogatory. And in return, you can tell me your name, and I'll do the same." he said, careful to be gentle with the fragile being. If the boy was even part kobold, he was very fragile, as the bones of said species would break easily under almost any force. He pouted, and sunk his head down. "I don't h-have a name." he said, his voice a mere whisper. Shango leaned back.

"Very well then. I shall give you a name. From here on out, you will be known as Pip Squeak Phunraz. I will call you by our first name, Pip, and you can call me whatever you like." he said. The creature looked up, a bright look in his eyes. Shango smiled. "See? Now you have a name, and a family." he said, turning back to the closet. He rolled his fingers, and a large chunk of black cloth floated from the closet. The creature backed up slightly, and Shango, used his other hand to freeze him in place. He squirmed and thrashed, using surprising force to try and pry himself free of Shango's spell. The liger worked the black cloth with one hand, his rolling fingers altering the cloth into an outfit for the boy. He turned to him. "Calm down Pip. Can't have you squirming while I'm working. I need you to stay still." he said. The creature stopped moving, but remained uneasy.

Shango stood him upright, and with a quick flick of his wrists, the loose robe was gone and replaced by a thick cloth shirt, which had sleeves that covered his hands, and string tightening it toward his collar. His trousers were similar, standard and simple. Shango sighed. "Done. Now you look like a free civilian, and not … never mind." he said, not wanting to damage the creature's psyche any more. The little boy cheered, happy to have new clothing. He bounced about the room, with a grace only the elves possessed. Shango sighed. The creature sat down, blinking at Shango. "Mister, why are your eyes white?" he asked. Shango shrugged. "Just the way they came out. It can be attributed to my species, as I am descended from a White Tiger, and they normally have blue eyes, or gray eyes. Your eyes are pitch black. Why?" he retorted. The creature blinked. He giggled. "Simple. My mommy was a dark elf. Dark Elves have black eyes sometimes." he said. Shango nodded, standing. The creature stood with him. He looked down at Pip. "Yes, but elves are a lot taller than you." he said. Pip frowned. "They are?" he asked.

Shango walked out of his room, Pip following close behind. Walking through the halls, which were lit by torches placed far apart, Shango's eyes were wide open, his pupils expanded, nearly covering his whole eye. Pip followed close, unable to see in the dark. He walked out into the courtyard, where many members of House Stark's allies were lounging happily. Pip's eyes widened. Most of the people in this yard, if not all, were taller than him. Lizard like creatures were lounged, some with massive gray skinned warriors leaning against them, feasting happily. Purple skinned, pointed eared warriors sang, danced, and feasted about. Shango pointed to them. "They, are dark elves." he said. He frowned, seeming much shorter than them. Pip heard a chortle, and turned his head, and stepped back, unnerved by the massive, green skinned warrior standing there.

"Well well, where'd you get a kobold, Cat?" he asked, his voice gruff. Shango turned to him. "Pip? My grandfather saved him from Jhaqo's horde. I decided to take care of him. Be careful how you treat him, Wolverine, he is a Phunraz." he stated nonchalantly. The orc sighed. "A kobold? In Dothraki territory? What was he, a thief?" he asked. Shango looked to Pip. "You could say that." he said, being vague. Wolverine frowned. "You have yet to show me a fae hybrid. I expect to see one soon." he said, turning and trudging off. Pip blinked. "Why did he call me a kobold? I'm an elf." he said. Shango turned to the elves. "Hey Z!" he called. A female elf stood, walking over with a boisterous swagger that Pip had only seen used by Jhaqo's chosen women. She looked to him, and he cast his head down. "Why do you have a Kobold?" she asked.

His head shot up. "I'm an elf!" he said, angrier than he'd hoped. Her golden eyes locked into him, and her lips curved upward in a cruel, sadistic smile. "You smell like desert sands and woodlands. That's the smell of a kobold. All of your teeth are jagged, and you're below six feet tall. You have large eyes, and you are thin, thinner than most elves, which are lean muscled. Those are kobold features." she said. He frowned. "But my mom was an elf." he said. She furrowed her brow. She then nodded, turning to Shango. "Has Wolverine seen him yet?" she asked. Shango nodded. "Then you can tell the orc he's seen his fae hybrid. His ears are elven, and he's thicker than any known kobold. He's also taller than kobolds, and his skin is too elven. His teeth aren't completely sharp, and he's humanoid looking, unlike the demonic faces kobolds have." she said. Shango nodded.

"Now that we are past the unpleasentries, how about a proper introduction?" he asked, and the elf nodded. "Z, this is Pip Squeak Phunraz. Pip, this is Regina Zillah Kefira. She is the head of the dark elf group we have. Her second in command is a taller elven female named Keilantra, who many feel doesn't deserve her name." he put in nonchalantly, so as to not anger the elf. She nodded. "That name should belong to a queen, not a Lady." she said, brow furrowed. Shango nodded, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you enjoy yourself, Pip?" he said, smiling. The hybrid gulped, but nodded. Shango turned to the elf once he was gone. She rolled her eyes. "Adopting a kobold child? Are you mad?" she asked. He shrugged. "Aren't we all?" he asked. She huffed, walking past him. He turned, following her.

Pip frowned, unnerved by the large people standing around him. He decided to fade out, wander off. He headed to an empty bench, sitting at the end, so as not to draw any attention to himself. He watched elves go by, wondering why he couldn't be all elf. What was a kobold, and how had his mother been impregnated by one? The elves here looked strong, so how had a strong woman lost her child to mere humans? Had they taken her by surprise? He sighed. He heard a giggle, and looked to the other end of the bench, where a boy sat with a girl, who rubbed her face against his throat. He frowned. Why did they look so similar?

The girl caught his eye, and he turned away quickly. He didn't want to be spoken too, as he was untrusting of almost everyone. The girl spun around the boy, sitting closer to him. The boy moved closer, possibly scolding her under his breath. She laughed. "Hello." she said. He looked up a little. "H-hello." he stuttered, feeling his fear creep in. She had sharp features, and they scared him. She reminded him of a wolf, as did the boy next to her. The boy scolded her again. He caught a faint whisper of 'don't', and became even more worried. Don't what? She shrugged him off, and he frowned. "My name is Arya, and this is my mate, Bran. I noticed that you looked different than the other elves. Why is that?" she asked. He turned. "It's be-because I'm only half elf. My father was a kobold, whatever that is." he said, frowning. She nodded. "Okay. Me and my brother are Northern WereDireWolves." she said. He turned.

"Brother? I thought you said he was your mate?" he asked. She nodded. "He is. Bran is my brother and my mate." she said. Pip nodded. He sighed. "I was unaware. I haven't seen much. I was raised in a Dothraki Horde as a prisoner, then used for..._unsavory_ deeds." he said. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well, that's all changed. I heard that Shango decided to care for you. He's a good guy. You'll never have to do anything unsavory again. Unless you want to." she said, and the boy frowned. "Arya." he said, and she turned. "What's wrong, afraid of a little competition?" she teased. He frowned, and his eyes lightened. "No. I don't share very well." he said. She laughed. "You'll be sharing with me. What's wrong with that?" she asked. Bran frowned. Her increased promiscuity was beginning to irritate him. They had already mated much more, a change in her preventing him from hearing the end of it if he refused.

"I'm not one for elves. No offense." he said, leaning around the girl to speak to Pip. The hybrid nodded. "None taken." he said. She sighed, standing and walking away. He stood, following her. He bode Pip farewell, and the hybrid sat, enjoying the sound of festivities, but never getting involved.

Sitting in a corner of his chambers, he looked across from him at the dark elf. She frowned. "I hate kobolds. And yet, your grandfather sends you a kobold, and you adopt it, instead of killing it." she said, bewildered. Shango remained calm, nodding. "Of course. I never turn down those in need. Regardless of species. If you have an issue with it, end our alliance." he challenged. She frowned. "You'd really throw away our alliance for a kobold?" she asked. He nodded. "I help those in need. And he's half kobold, half dark elf. I find it funny. Wolverine states that elves always take the high ground, finding themselves perfect beings, and yet, when something they don't like appears, he is correct." Shango said. She frowned. "I really don't like kobolds." she said. He frowned. He leaned forward. "Unless you are his mother, and you were raped by kobolds, and had your child stolen by a Dothraki Horde to become a pleasure slave, deal with it. I'm not fond of humans, and yet, as far as I'm concerned, Sansa is human, as is Aeron. But yet, they are important, isn't that right?" he stated, and she frowned. She remained silent, unable to retort. He nodded. "Now, are you his mother?" he asked. She shook his head. "Very well then. Then deal with it." he repeated.

At Storm's End, ten thousand armored, heavily armed soldiers prepared for a final assault, the final battle before they controlled the Stormlands under their king's rule. A mighty scream rang out, and they charged. Horses trampled down the grass, as men roared behind them. The gates were closed, and no men were surrounding the castle. It was odd, but the men cared not, they were going to go down in legend! A loud noise was muffled by their barreling, and then they were upon each other. Men in the shape of sharks came from behind, claws barreling across their bones and flesh. Barbosa swung his mighty hammered head, crashing it into man, breaking his armor, the broken pieces tearing into his chest. He swung his rapier, parrying with another soldier. He raked his claws across his helm, the force snapping his neck and knocking him to the ground. Barbosa spun, slamming his foot into another chest.

Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of His Name cut down a shark man, riding closer to his destination. A blur sped by, barreling into his horse, knocking him from the steed. He scrambled to his feet, frowning at what he saw. The man was large, with a massive rack of antlers atop his crown. He had the face of a stag, and the legs of one as well. Aegon stared down the Stagman, frowning. He discarded his helm, holding his longsword in his hand. He made sure to carry his shield tightly, and looked across at his opponent. "I am Aegon Targaryen, the rightful king of Westeros! Who dares challenge my claim!?" he called. The stag frowned. "I am the rightful Lord of Storm's End, Lord Indro Durrendon. Who are you to attack my castle, False King!?" he called, and Aegon growled.

He charged the man, swinging his blade down. He stepped to the side, rolling to swing his large, hooved fist at Aegon. He brought his shield up, force back by the force of the fist. He grunted, swinging in a sideways arc. The man stepped back, and threw his leg out at Aegon, who jumped back. The man continued, rolling for a second kick. Aegon brought his shield up, but he was slow, and the blow knocked his shield upwards, causing it to slam into his chest, making him stumble back. He recovered quickly, rolling and swinging low. The man jumped back, bowing his head and charging. Aegon brought his shield up, and the antlers slammed into him. Multiple points pierced his shield, and one pierced his hand. He called out. His grip on the shield faltered, and he dropped it. He jumped away from a kick, delivering a shallow cut to his cheek. He frowned, his eyes narrowing. Aegon unleashed a cry, and men ran to his aid, and the stag frowned.

Shango sat, sniffing the cold night air. He was surrounded by his group, including Pip, who looked to him. "I hate it when battle unfold without me." he stated. Z frowned. "Why? You can ask me to transport you there. I do know how to transport groups instantly." she said, glaring at him. He hummed. "Then do it. Indro's in trouble." he said. She sighed, and snapped. They ended up in a forest on the outskirts of the battle, and Shango turned to his friends. "Arya, stay here and watch Pip. The rest of you, fuck some shit up." he said, and they nodded, charging out into battle.

Wolverine made it first, his dreadlocks billowing in the breeze. He slammed his fist into a man, knocking him back. He rolled, his elbowing hitting the shield of another. The man called out, and a kick knocked a third back. The grabbed a fourth by his chest, tearing the armor from his body. His helm fell away in the blow, a fear stricken face hidden underneath. Wolverine bit the man's head clean off, spitting it out. He grabbed the man's sword, slicing a fifth clean in half as he bit the headless body, savoring the pork like taste of the man's flesh. He spat out the bone, the marrow all he wanted. He sighed, enjoying the change of pace. Though, he wished his cook was here. He liked seasoning on his human.

The elf was irritated, and it showed. She flung the chain, the dagger on the end flying through the air. It flew into a man's helm, tearing into his skull. She yanked it out, rolling as she cast it out again. It rolled, wrapping around the arm of a man, allowing her to yank him forward, where she slammed her spiked heel into his face. She drove it in, spinning to deliver a crushing kick to the chest of another man. She frowned, lifting her arm up. A massive vine shot from the ground, thrashing three soldiers who came at her. The vine rolled, crashing down onto two more. She rolled, opening her palm. Five men exploded into flame, their screams of shock, horror and agony music to her pointed ears.

The three dwarves worked as a force, eliminating foes three times as fast. Hamar swung his hammer, the man's chest crushed. Vlad moved too quick for the man to see, driving a sword he picked up into his throat. Fafnir swung his trunk like fist, staggering a soldier, where Hamar came from behind with his hammer. "Cover me Hamar!" Fafnir called, stepping back. The armored dwarf swung his hammer, knocking another man back, where he dropped. "You sure about this Fafnir?" he asked, and the dwarf nodded. Fafnir grunted, feeling his form change. His skin darkened to a sickly black, then appeared to become layered, like scales. He grew slightly, no more than half a foot, and his body thickened. Barrel like arms were thicker than most humans, and a chest so broad, it could wall a battalion. His teeth became sharp, and his nails grew, becoming sharp.

His face elongated, snapping and cracking as it formed into a lizard's head. He became hunched, two humps forming in his back. Hamar glanced back, his massive hammer having claimed at least twenty more men. The humps exploded, becoming thinner, and much longer. They fell around him, and he threw his head back, spreading his newly grown wings, and roared. He moved like a storm, spitting at a man. His armor began to erode, and he followed, the acid from his maw too great for him to handle. He swung his claws, tearing into the breastplate of a warrior, and he looked to Vlad. The dwarf hissed, his fangs longer and claws sharpened. Both dwarves swung their claws, spat and hissed, and tore and ripped at armor and flesh, blind rage overcoming them. Hamar laughed, loving his ability to tear men apart with one fell swoop of his hammer.

Shango swung his spear, which he kept on his waist, parrying with a soldier. He went under, his hand shifting into a large paw like hand, and he drove it through the man's chest. He rolled, swinging the short, broad bladed spear. The man's face was saved, but his helm rattled, knocking him off balance, where a kick from Shango's shifting leg killed him. Shango rolled, his tail exploding from his back to wrap around the arm of a man. He spun, using the man like a flail, knocking more men back. He looked to the Stag, who had the upper hand, and appeared to be toying with the human. Shango hoped not, because even toys can be dangerous.

Bran swung his claws down, disliking his lack of a weapon. He rolled, slamming his leg at a man, whose shield blocked it, but he was knocked off balance. Another gray blur went by, and Arya grabbed him with her jaws, tearing him in half. She chewed then spat him out, the armor a foul taste. She grabbed another man with her mighty paws, ripping him in half. Bran barked, scolding her. She stuck her tongue out, and he frowned. A man screamed, and Bran back handed him away. He slammed his claws through the shield of another man, ripping them out and slashing his face. Arya slashed another man, and Bran followed. She grabbed a man with her claws, throwing him behind her, where Bran caught him with his jaws, tearing him in twain. He spat the man out. She was right, armor tastes foul.

Tzimisce disliked the heat, but dealt with it. He jabbed his spear at a man, the sharp edge denting his armor. He jabbed again, catching him under the arm, where no armor resides. He called out, blood erupting from the wound. Tzimisce rolled, twirling his spear, and slammed it in a man's face, his helm unable to protect him. He pulled it out, sweeping low to knock men off their feet. The dwarves came, Fafnir slamming his wing edges into two chests, and Vlad tore at the throat, the blood appeasing him. Hamar Af Doom came, swinging his hammer down at each remaining man. The ancient man sighed, This was what he came from across the wall for. He roared, slamming his spear through the chest of a man, his emotion fueling his strike.

Shango scanned the field, frowning when he saw Arya. He moved, killing with ease and nonchalance as he walked. He swung his fist, his morphing frame increasing the power it was swung with. Rolling his wrist, Shango wondered if he should stop using the fighting style he was taught by his grandfather. It allowed him to expend little energy, but the constant shifting back and forth, even for parts of his body, would damage his human form, which he wanted to keep for at least a few more years. He heard a shout, a high pitched one, and frowned. He shifted in a split second, his massive frame causing him minor strain, and began running toward the forest, leaping from man to man. He used his weight as a catapult, vaulting himself into the air. He ran across the skulls of men, the shock of having a half ton weight bounce off of them not registering fast enough, as the weight kills them. Though, Arya would receive a therian sized tongue lashing after this.

Pip struggled, the cackling man tearing at his clothing. His sleeves had come off, and his shirt was stretched, and he felt the horrors of being in Jhaqo's horde all over again. He heard a roar, and a quick glance showed Shango rolling to his feet, facing down a massive cat, with a huge white main. A were Hrakkar, normally promiscuous sell swords across the Narrow Sea. Of course The Golden Company would have at least one. Now all hope was lost for Pip. He closed his eyes, waiting for the worst. But, it never came. His assailant screamed, and he turned. A massive gray wolf, larger than any therian he'd seen up close, tore his assailant in twain, then disappeared. The wolf man had a long face, even for a therian, and it made Pip wonder who it was.

The Hrakkar had stopped Shango, and he roared at him,. His anger building. The man lion had attacked him, and only made him angrier. The Hrakkar swung his claws down, and Shango leaned back, bringing his leg up. His head snapped back, but he leaned away from Shango's attack, coming up with his own claws. Shango pulled his arm back, throwing a kick. It struck, and the Hrakkar stumbled back. He punched, the lion's face contorting as he was struck and knocked back. He snarled, rolling and unleashing another kick. The lion leaned back, striking with his claws, opening up five small wounds on Shango's chest. Shango felt his eye's twitch, and he roared.

The roar held so much force, the battle stopped, everyone turning to watch the liger fight the lion. The liger slammed two fingers into the chest of the lion, one on each hand. Then he pulled then out, striking four more times. Each time, he struck more. Four, eight, sixteen, thirty two and finally, sixty four. The final two strikes were full palm strikes and the lion flew back from the force, the massive amount of tiny wounds leaking blood. He hit the ground, where Shango drove a stray sword into his face, roaring his victory. The battle resumed, the Golden Company deterred by the force.

The stag slammed his foot into the sword hand of the boy, breaking it and making him relinquish his hold on the blade. The stag bowed his head, and the boy laughed. "Even if you kill me, there are still fifteen thousand men on ships heading our way to fight in my name!" he screamed. The stag charged, skewering the boy. He hoisted the false king up upon his antlers, unleashing a mighty cry, causing the battle to stop. The stag lifted the sword of Aegon, and the Golden company tried to retreat, only to be boxed in by Shango's group and House Rokea. Screams rang out, and blood sprayed into the air. Men tried to flee, but none succeeded. The angry elf combined with an irritated liger made for a force of magickal power that had yet to be seen in Westeros' history. Then, after the many men were defeated, they saw the small fleet rolling in from the water. Shango frowned. He shifted back to his human form, grunting as the shallow cuts expanded, and he began to heal them. "Zillah, bring me Aeron Greyjoy." he said, hissing. She frowned, but snapped.

The seaweed haired man frowned at his transportation, but looked to Shango. "You appeared to have summoned me." he said. Shango nodded. "We have ships heading our way. House Rokea needs to check their loses and lick their wounds. You are a Drowned Man. Unleash your secrets." he said, gesturing at the ships. Aeron sighed, but walked forward. The water skin at his side was open, and his hair and hands were coated in salty seawater. He exhaled, closing his eyes. They snapped open, and he moved.

He thrust his arms up, beginning a dance that would prove useful. A column of water shot up. He spun, and the water wove it's way around him, launching itself at the ship like a missile. It tore into the hull, and he spread his hand open wide, and thrust his hand up, and a much broader column shot up, tearing the ship in twain. Before it could sink, he rolled his arm, clenching one hand on his wrist, and thrusting the open palm down. The massive column of water appear to become rapid, like a waterfall, and slammed into the second ship like a tidal wave. The ship rocked, and he removed his hand from his other wrist and rolled it, and a second column came up, destroying the second ship. He spread his arms wide, and the very sea itself split in twain, and the sands at the bottom were visible, and them he rolled his arms as he brought them down.

The sea fell back in one, the waters rolling and churning. A whirlpool formed from the friction, and the screams of men were heard as the whirlpool absorbed the final ships. Aeron exhaled once he finished the deed, and drew the water into the water skin. He turned, and Shango pursed his lips."Not bad." he said, and the magister nodded. He sighed, then turned to Arya. The wolf gulped under the liger's gaze, and he narrowed his eyes. "Did I not tell you to watch Pip!?" he yelled. He looked top the forest, where the hybrid sat waving, his outfit tattered. "What in the left fuck!" he yelled. "Weren't you being attacked!?" he called, and the elf nodded. He made the gestures of a bite, and a man screaming. Shango shrugged. "Whatever. Let's get back to Winterfell. But first, I have something to do." he said, walking over to the stag. He remained in his therian form, Aegon impaled on his antlers.

Shango took the sword from the stag, and lobbed off the head of the Targaryen. "Make sure my grandfather gets this when he arrives Durrendon." he said, and the stag nodded, shifting back to normal. 'Are you aware of the terms of our alliance?" he asked. Shango nodded. "Yes. You take Storm's End, and the Baratheon's get Dragonstone. I am perfectly aware of this, and intend to honor my grandfather's alliances." he said, walking back over to the rest of his group. He sighed, closing his eyes as they were transported back. Once back, he exhaled, his breath visible. He grunted, turning to the elf. "You need to calm down. I have calmed down, and you should follow." he said. He turned to the dwarves. "You guys were kick ass." he said, turning to the Starks. "Stop with the on battle interaction. And please, don't eat armor, It's bad for your teeth." he said, turning to Wolverine. "Pip's half elf, half kobold. There's your hybrid." he said, turning to Tzimisce.

"You kicked ass my man." he said, and then he turned to Aeron. "That was great. But, next time, less dramatics. The dancing part was unneeded, but cool anyway." he said, turning to Pip. "I need to train you somehow. But first, everybody rest and recharge your energies." he said, and the group split. Shango headed back to his room, wondering just how Pip's attacker was supposedly bit in twain.

Kefira: Ke- fear-ah

Keilantra: Kei-lan-tra

Zillah: Zei-L-ah


	11. Watching The Watch

_Sorry! I would have had this up earlier, but I lost the file and had to rewrite the whole chapter! This moth will focus on A Song Of Ice and Fire: Honor Of A House. August will focus on Pokemon: Hold The Heathen Hammer High, which will hopefully remain as popular as it has been. I thank you all as always, and please forgive me for lacking updates wise. JIRO_

Back in King's Landing, Varys the Spider exhaled calmly, prepared to recount the battle of Storm's End to King Joffery. A great pleasure filled him at the thought of the king's reaction, and he yearned for it. He opened his mouth, trying to hide a cruel smile, as he recounted the tale in detail.

"Reports come in of a battle at Storm's End. Apparently, Aegon Targaryen the Sixth, previously thought dead, was alive and well and in full control of ten thousand skilled military class troops, which he used to conquer the Stormlands, the ancestral home of House Baratheon. He attacked Storm's End itself, but met unusual resistance." He began, his arms folded in front of him. "If reports and rumors are true, a man beast in the form of a stag who called himself Indro Durrendon led a thousand shark man beasts into battle, and held the upper hand. When he began to lose, a force of impressive description appeared, barreling from the forest like a mountain clan raiding party." He said.

"First was a dwarf dragon man beast named Fafnir, accompanied by a huge hammer wielding dwarf named Hamar Af Doom. Another dwarf, this one also a vampire, began to battle, and their allies consisted of Tzimisce Frostfang, a White Walker Chieftan, A dark elf female with enough magickal power to set five men aflame with a thought. But, the rest of the party is what should be the most prominent of the information." He said, smiling slyly.

"First was Shango Phunraz, a liger man beast of epic power, who slaughtered a Hrakkar, or white Dothraki lion, man beast with a disadvantage in age and experience. Upon hearing this, I grew wary, as the Phunraz have defeated and taken control of the north, and The Neck, and each time, reports come in of man beasts in their army. A spy near Winterfell who was killed soon after also reports Brienne of Tarth and Sandor Clegane having joined their forces, along with your uncle, Lord Tyrion, and your former fiancée, Sansa Stark." He said. He saw Joffery twitched at the mention of the taller woman, and he smiled.

"The other two people there were Bran Stark and Arya Stark." He said. Cersei paled slightly, and Jaime seemed unnerved. "How is that possible? The boy is crippled." She said. The court was empty, save for Varys, the Lannisters and Joffery's wife. Varys chuckled. "We are all full aware that he was pushed from that window, and survived. Oksana, a much older Phunraz family member, used unknown means to heal him, and my final spy stated that he was fully healed by a combination of magick from Aeron Greyjoy, and the act of mating." He said. Cersei frowned. "Mating?" she asked. Varys nodded.

"Yes. You see, Bran and Arya were seen in the shape of quite large wolf man beasts. If my spy was correct, and he wasn't disemboweled for nothing, Arya would not have becoming a man beast if not for her mating with Bran. It seems the boy known to some as The Winged Wolf can spread his ability to others through a bite. The girl is a threat, as she is a Faceless Man as well, and was able to penetrate the castle to help Tyrion and Sansa escape." He said, pursing his lips to avoid smiling. Joffery snarled, and Varys held a hand up. "That is not all." He said, whistling. A man walked in, disheveled and coated in wounds. "Tell them what you told me." He said, smiling. The man grunted, but kneeled and rose. "Your Grace, I witnessed something horrible, and foreshadowing." He began.

"Another creature was there. It was called Pip, and it's gender was indeterminable by appearance. My brother grew out of control, and attempted to rape the creature. The one known as Shango appeared to care for the creature, as he went berserk when he heard the creature scream. But, a third wolf man beast, over twice as tall as my brother, who was no short fellow, attacked him, biting him in half with one flexing of its jaw." He said. Joffery frowned. "And how does this affect me any?" he asked. "I believe I have identified the creature." He said. "You see, I spoke to Catelyn Stark before her death, and she said the bones of Ned Stark were too small to be true. And even his head, hanging petrified at the wall, bore little resemblance to him. And so, this leads me to the conclusion that the massive, powerful man beast that tore my brother in pieces was infact, Eddard Stark." He said, head bowed.

Joffery went still, as did Jaime and Cersei. A look of despair passed between the two siblings, and a smile of dark, sickening proportions crossed the eunuch's features. The eunuch turned, heading toward the door. "If Ned Stark is running rampant and without reason in the Stormlands, then consider that territory forbidden grounds, or you'll lose many a man. Especially if he's aware of the state of his family." He said, walking from the door. He heard cracks and pops on the other side of the door, then a roar, and a scream. He knew it. Two generations of inbreeding brought it back in full. Varys laughed, hoping the cub knew what he was, and what he was doing.

Across the narrowest of seas, Grandpa Lion sighed. He looked to the small bed, which held the unconscious Daenerys Targaryen. He sighed. Her body was unaccustomed to the power it now held, and she had been unconscious for two days. He was now on a ship across the sea, and made sure that he'd arrive in the Stormlands specifically, to see how Indro was doing. He looked to her, chuckling. She was only in her early teens, and, like most Bitten therians, should only experience her First Change after puberty, at roughly sixteen to eighteen years of age. Born therians remained in their therian forms from birth to up to two years, and he very rare animal born therians experience their First Change at roughly half a year. However, there was dragon blood in her veins, which made her shift immediately. It would be painful, especially with her horrible physical condition. He sighed again, and heard her groan. She opened her eyes, and slowly tried to sit up.

She turned to the ancient man, who sat in a small chair in the wooden ship cabin. She frowned. "Where are we?" she asked. He looked about the room. "On a cabin in a ship. We are dormant, as I am waiting for my allies to retrieve a few artifacts and retrieve your dragons, then we shall be off to claim the Iron Throne, or at least get you to Winterfell." He said, shrugging. She looked down to her body. "Did it work?" she asked. He nodded. "Of course. You envisioned a black, fire breathing dragon, and that's what you got. A bit small though, as you aren't the tallest of women." He said, chuckling. She frowned. "How tall was I?" she asked. He sighed, sitting back.

"Roughly seven and a half feet tall. But that's normal for someone of five feet in height. You'd be larger, but most female weredragons put more into the shape of their body, instead of size, as dragons are supposed to be alluring and captivating." he said, seeming unhappy with his own statement. She frowned. "How big will I be in ten years, or twenty?" she asked. He sighed. "Well, seeing as how we'll be on a ship for a long while, I see no reason why I can't whet your curiosity." He said. "You'll likely finish growing at roughly ten feet, which is normal. However, females can grow to be twelve feet tall, and males get up to three feet taller. Males are normally heavily muscled, and their scales are designed like armor, while females choose to have more silky scales normally." He said. She frowned. "And my future husband?" she asked. He laughed. "Shango? He's always been quite large." He began.

"On average, a lion gets to twelve feet tall, and most tigers are smaller. A group of northern tigers however, can be slightly larger than lions at twelve and a half to thirteen feet. Ligers, especially of Shango's pedigree, can be bigger than both. As my descendants are the only ligers, I can't give you an estimate. Maynhard is over fourteen feet tall at least, and Shango's already at twelve feet, if not larger." He said. She frowned, appearing nervous. "Can you give me an estimate of any sort?' she asked. He hummed. "I'd say fifteen feet, but knowing Shango's inability to be predictable, he might be even larger than that. A proper term for ligers is 'those bear sized cats'." He said. She frowned. "Are there other dragons?" she asked.

He gave her a glum look, as though he knew she wouldn't want the answer. "There were. Plenty. Until Dragogh became smitten with the prospect of being called Dragogh the Forsaken, which he believed would require him to be the only dragon." He said. "Who is Dragogh?" she asked. He laughed. "A foul lizard to be sure. He is a Mirror Dragon, meaning his scales reflect the light around them, like mirrors. He is the oldest thing on this planet, and he believes the strongest. Last I saw him, he was fifteen feet tall, but knowing him, he'd have somehow increased his size somehow." He said. "But, there is Fafnir. He is a dwarf friend of mine. He grows to five and a half feet tall, I think, and he's just as wide. And he is quite amusing to see in battle." He said. She managed a small smile.

"What about the largest," she began, trailing off. "Therian?" he piped in, and she nodded. He chuckled. "Well, the largest living therian I know of is my friend Bjorn Staersta Bjorn, who is a cave bear. Now, seeing sixteen foot tall white bears is one thing, but seeing Bjorn is something else. He was a cave bear, and held a bluish hue, and stood at a full twenty feet tall." He said. She seemed taken back. "Wouldn't it cause a lot of strain being that large?" she asked. He shook his head. "Bears are slow to anger, so he normally doesn't fight. But, when he does, the energy generated just from being angry is enough. His human form is ten feet tall, as too much size gain can cause too much strain, and you could possibly kill yourself mid shift." He said.

"You said he was the largest living therian, what about the largest one you've ever seen?" she asked. He sighed. "Why, that would be my old friend and mentor Behemoth In The Sands. He was an extinct creature called a Stegodon. Now, you must picture these thirteen foot tall, sixteen thousand pound elephant like creatures in themselves, and then the fact that they have nearly ten foot long, almost straight tusks that cause their trunks to drape over them. Now, make that a man. His human form was thirteen feet tall, and his therian form was Twenty-five feet tall, with eighteen foot long tusks. Of course, the old sage was found killed years back. We never found the killer, but reports say he was a werelion, and a familiar one at that." He said. She nodded. He sighed. "You should get some more rest. I'm going to get your dragons." He said. She frowned. "Don't you have people doing that?" she asked. He nodded. "Yes, but Fisi doesn't like it when panthers enter her domain." He said.

She frowned. "Fisi?" she asked. He nodded. "Yes, Fisi. Fisi is a Spotted Hyena female in control of the jackals near the pyramids your dragons perch upon." He said, walking out. Before he did, he turned to her slightly. "Know this little girl. Know that you are a dragon, Dragogh will want you daed. I am to make sure that never happens. However, abusing your authority and power will only draw him closer to you. I will not allow you to be rash. Lions are wild, and don't take orders very well." He said, closing the door behind himself.

Back in Winterfell, Shango sighed. He called his family and friends over, to discuss business. "As you all can plainly see, either Stannis is not coming, or he's being quite slow." He began. "And as such, I've decided to ignore him. A raven came to me, saying that all hells broke loose at the Wall. I planned on ignoring the wall, but this is serious. Bowen Marsh, or whatever the fuck his name is, and a group of Watchmen just attacked and stabbed Jon Snow because he planned on trying to reclaim Winterfell in the name of House Stark. A giant across the wall, Wun Weg wun Dar Wun, may be in possession of Jon. Ghost's fate is also unknown. I plan to head to the wall to find him and bring him back, and punish any who are responsible." He said. Bran had a fist clenched, and frowned.

"I'm going." He said, and Arya giggled, seconding his statement. Shango sighed. "Fine. Make sure you keep up. Loki and the wolves are coming with us, as we can use the force." He said. Vasili frowned. "Why can't I go? Or Haakon?" he asked. Shango frowned. "Are you in possession of your animal form?" he asked. Vasili frowned, remaining silent. Haakon folded his arms, glaring. "That doesn't mean anything." He said. Shango frowned. "Father is in control. You and every available archer are to prevent anyone from taking Winterfell in the event Stannis get it in gear and attacks. Or, I'll have Hamar and Wolverine head to Dragonstone, without you." He said, frowning. The two began to grow angered, and a chuckle stopped them. They looked to Sandor Clegane, who surprisingly, wore no armor. And, standing next to him, Brienne of Tarth was in a similar state. "You two are kittens. Why don't you leave the real work to the bigger cats." He said. Haakon frowned. "Watch what you say human." He snarled. Sandor chuckled, a dry sound that was darker than it should have been.

"You really think I'm human? Do you honestly think any of your allies are human?" he asked. Vasili frowned. Shango nodded. "Sandor, Brienne, you're with us." He said, and they nodded. Shango looked about. "Pip, you're coming too, and so is the dragon." He said. The dragon, laying on the cold stone ground, opened his eyes, and stood, now the size of a large dog. Shango looked at his force, chuckling. "Let's go." He said, and they all nodded.

Once outside the walls of Winterfell, Bran frowned. "It'll take a long time to reach the wall. It took Jon a week on horseback, I believe." He began. Shango chuckled. "That's if you stop. If you can shift into an animal form, do so now. If not, get on the back of an animal and don't stop. If we run with no stopping, we should be able to reach the wall in two days." He said. They nodded.

The group began moving, holding their formation. Shango ran at the head of the group in his liger form, flanked by Summer and Nymeria. Behind them was Shaggy Dog, with Bran and Arya atop him, and he was flanked by Brienne and Sandor. Sandor was a war dog, and extinct breed of massive canines that were taller than most men on their hind legs. He was in his fourth form, the near animal form, and was the size of a horse. His muzzle was short, and his fur was completely brown in color, almost like a modern day Rottweiler. To Shaggy Dog's other side was Brienne, a brown bear of impressive size. She moved at the same speeds, as they moved at a leisurely pace, because if they didn't, Shango would be much faster. Loki ran at the back of the group, with Pip on his back, and the dragon overhead. The Dark of Night came, and then the bright day. And by the next bright of day, the wall came into view.

Upon reaching the Wall, Shango gave orders to enter therian form. Each therian shifting, the group became an intimidating sight. Reaching eight feet tall, Bran shook the snow from his auburn fur. At seven and a half feet, Arya repeated the action, cleansing her gray fur of snow. Sandor remained much larger than average, standing at twelve feet tall, and with thicker limbs than some other dog breeds. Brienne was always large, and her therian form proved that. The largest of the group, her therian form of a massive brown bear stood at fourteen feet tall, and stood out the most. Shango was nearly thirteen feet tall, and gestured to the wall. The group followed, Pip, remaining shielded by the group. Once across the wall, Shango snarled to them. His voice was much more gravelly, and throaty. "You have one objective. Find Jon Snow. Kill everyone else on the principle that they aren't him." He said, and they all nodded. He roared, and they charged.

Barreling through the snow, they met a large group of Night's Watchmen, appearing to be returning from a recon mission or something similar. One of them screamed, and panic fell about them as the massive forms of the group came upon them. Sandor backhanded one of them, the snap of his neck satisfying. Bran bit onto the flesh of another, tearing an arm from him. Arya barked happily, her large clawed foot trailing across the face of another. Swords were drawn, and the rest of the group came upon them. Nymeria leapt, sinking her jaws into a man's arm, where Shaggy Dog pounced upon his chest and sunk his large teeth in. He rolled his head, pulling his throat out, staining his black muzzle with crimson liquid.

Summer leapt at another man, biting his hand. The crunch of bone and scream let him know he hit his mark, and he let go, moving back. Loki pounced on him, the seven hundred pounds of lion too much. Loki moved to another man, slapping him with his paws, where The massive hand of Brienne cleaved him in twain. Shango ducked down, rolling and swinging his foot in a circle, the force sending each man slamming into the next. The rest of the men, only three in number, attempted to retreat. Shaggy Dog leapt at on, biting his hair. He yanked him down, where Summer clamped his large jaws down on his throat. Nymeria sank her teeth into the arm of the second, rolling her body to tear the flesh from his arm and kick the third, knocking him off balance. Shango approached, now in human form, and looked down at the man. "Now, can you help me? I was wondering if you knew where Jon Snow was." He said. The man, fearful of Shango, stammered. "Yes. He was last seen as Castle Black I believe." He stated, and Shango smiled. The other man had screamed and went silent, likely due to Shaggy Dog's jaws.

Shango nodded. "Alright. Then we are off to Castle Black." He began, and turned to the man. "Thank you for your troubles my good fellow." He said, nodding to the man before walking round him. Sandor followed, as did Brienne and Arya. Bran followed close behind, with each of the animals on their ways as well. The dragon however remained for a while, sitting atop the quivering man. It tilted it's head, closing in with it's jaws, which were slightly larger than a wolf's. It's eyes, piercing orbs of turbulent grays, blues and yellows, almost like a ocular storm, peered down at him. It's lips peeled back, and it snapped it's jaws down, silencing the man for good.

Upon reaching the location called Castle Black, they saw the giant roaring, attacking droves of black cloaked men who tried to attack him. In his hand was the limp body of Jon Snow, and the direwolf known as Ghost stood next to the giant. Instinct kicked in, and the therians shifted and charged, barreling at the men from behind. A scream alerted them to the therians, but it was nearly too late.

Shango reached them first. In a blind rage, he slammed his fists down, the crunching of bone on his paws satisfying. He peeled his lips back, bringing his claws up, tearing more men in pieces. As he stood, he contorted his form, becoming near human, and punching a man. He leaned away from a sword, and extended his leg out, knocking the man back. Rolling, he raked his claws across three more men, who fell back from the pain. He grabbed a man by the throat, swinging him like a cudgel, snapping his neck as he struck a second man. He jabbed his hand out, striking the throat of another man, crushing his airpipe. He threw the dead man, watching him knock more men back. He swung his fist out, spun around the man, kicking another, and then finally slamming his hands into the chest of a third. He snarled, seeing even more men coming their way.

Being the shortest therian, Arya had an advantage. She swung her claws, and a man grunted, knocked back. Nymeria jumped, clamping her jaws around his throat. She kicked another man as hard as she could, and the blood that erupted from his lips was a symbol that it was a good kick. Snarling, she clamped her jaws around the throat and chest of another man, tearing his arm clean off. Spitting it out, she grabbed another man and threw him, her skill in combat coming in handy. A man jabbed at her with a sword. She leaned to the left, dropping down and swinging her leg at his. He fell, and Nymeria clamped down on his face, and he screamed in horror and pain. Jumping over the wolf, she bounced over two unsuspecting men, snatching one of their swords. The weapon was heavier than she'd have though, but was nothing for her increased therian strength. She swung, cleaving the head from another man, and smiling sickly.

Bran had stolen a sword, and moved fast. He parried, jabbing his hand out at another man, grabbing him and slamming him into the first. Rolling, he ducked under another strike, coming up with a slash that knocked him back, blood spraying about, coating the blade and the snow, and leaking from the wound onto his clothing. Rolling, more blood splattered the snow as Bran cut across a man's collarbone, and he fell. Bran leaned away from a swing, jabbing at the chest of another man. The blade was embedded in his chest, and he replaced it with his victim's blade. He rolled, parrying with another man, grasping the second blade in his hand, and tearing it from the man's chest. He swung the second blade, cutting deep into the man's shoulder, causing him to cry out. It was a sickening sound that stopped with a second swing, which tore into his face, killing him.

Brienne and Sandor surprisingly made a great team. Sandor kicked a man in Brienne's direction, which she caught and crushed in her paw. He other paw came down, slapping a man who went flying across the field, crashing hard in the snow, coating it with blood. The Hound snarled, punching a man who managed to cut his leg with a blade. The man's skull cracked and contorted, the force so devastating, he hit the ground before his teeth did. He hoisted another man over his head, clenching his paws and tearing him in half. Roaring, Brienne did the same, only with two men. Over a hundred more men came their way, and they looked to each other. Deciding their size was a hindrance, they returned to human form, using the Man Beast fighting Art, a special fighting style created for therians, by therians. Brienne slammed her fist into a man's skull, and he fell back, where she grabbed the man's sword and jabbed it into his chest. The woman was surprisingly quick, jabbing a man in the throat, spinning and cutting another down with a slash to the chest, and jabbing again, this time at Bowen Marsh himself. The man had attacked, and her blade's tip sunk into his chest. She groaned, pushing it in slowly, purposefully, and with increasing pleasure.

The men depleted in number almost too quickly for their liking, and minor wounds were sustained. Shango frowned, flicking blood from his claws as he walked up to the giant. He spoke to the giant in the Old Tongue, a language which Shango was fluent in. The giant nodded, and they all gathered up. Shango frowned, noticing that Pip and the dragon had gone missing. Shango grumbled. "Children, always so troublesome." He stated, and flexed his nostrils. The lack of scent was beginning to worry him, and then he heard a screech. He turned in the direction of the sound, seeing the dragon bite into a man who had cut Pip's shoulder. He brought the group to the scene, sighing. "That's it. From now on, you stay back in Winterfell. I figure you can be Rickon's friend, try to civilize him." He mused, and Pip frowned. Arya did too. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. Shango rolled his eyes. "Rickon is a little less than civilized. He spent time in Skagos, where Shaggy Dog fought a unicorn, and no offense, he's a little less then civil looking at the moment." He said, turning. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

_Zillah, can you hear me? _He asked telepathically, and waited for a reply. It soon came. _Yes I can Cat. What do you want?_ She asked. He chuckled. _Can you transport us back? We have Jon and the giant._ He stated. She grumbled, but complied. They were transported back instantly, the transport causing upset stomachs in the lesser experienced members of the group. Shango frowned. He issued orders quickly, making sure Jon got the best care. Once the bastard was in a room, his wounds were examined by Oksana. "At least twenty separate knife wounds, some of which are surprisingly dragonglass. I believe enough treatment of the wounds with herbs and magick would be fine, and he does possess therianthropy, but it is dormant. Awakening it might also help." She said. He nodded. "Have Aeron use his magicks. Can you take care of the herbs and awakening of his therianthropy for me?" he asked nonchalantly, as though changing the species of half dead people was normal for him. She nodded.

Outside, Shango sighed, and turned his head. The dragon remained asleep, as it had as soon as they arrived. He sighed. He walked over to the dragon and sat next to it, frowning. "You know boy, you need a name." he said. The lizard exhaled through it's nose, disregarding Shango. He chuckled. "I should name you Aerys after the Mad King just to stick it to the Lannisters, but I'm not that cruel. Daenerys Targaryen has three dragons, which are only wyverns from what I hear. Their names are Drogon, after her former husband Drogo, Viserion after her brother the Beggar King, and Rhaegal after her stillborn son. So they are all named after family members of hers that have passed on. I don't if I have any family members that passed on, nor do I really care. I think Grandfather is likely the first lion, if not one of the first. So, what kind of name do you want?" he asked. The lizard opened it's eyes halfway, then closed them, remaining comfortable on the cold ground. Shango chuckled.

"You seem to refuse to speak to me. Not even a screech. I should call you stubborn." He said. The dragon exhaled. "Fine. How about Sparky?" he asked. The dragon frowned. "Flaps?" he jeered, and the beast opened it's eyes. "Mr. Fluffykins?" he asked. The scaled beast lifted his head, lifting half his brow ridge at the demeaning name. "Alright. What about Tortima?" he asked. The dragon lifted it's eyes and placed a clawed finger to his chin as if deep in thought. He nodded, turned and laid down, his back to Shango. The liger laughed, turning to the rest of Winterfell. It seemed eerily peaceful, and he knew it was too good to be true. He rolled his bare feet against the stone, and felt. A massive vibration came back, and it wasn't too far away. He cursed, vaulting to his feet. He roared, catching the settlements attention. "Stannis is close by! Prepare for battle!" he yelled, running to Loki. On the Hrakkar's sides were his weapons, an Arakh and broad bladed axe. His spear was still secured on his waist, and he grabbed Moonglade, hurling it to Bran, who caught it with ease. A second roar signaled to the Northern Mountain Clans, who began to pour out of the forest. They exited Winterfell, ready to make a stand.

When Stannis arrived, he frowned at the sight of the Phunreaz family leading a small army. "Who are you, and where is Roose Bolton?" he asked. Shango chuckled. "I'm Shango Phunraz, of House Phunraz, allies of House Stark. If you cared, Roose was killed, impaled through the arse with a pike." he said. Stannis frowned. "And where is House Stark?" he asked. "Under outr protection. As is Storm's End." he said, trying to provoke a battle. Stannis frowned. "What have you done with Storm's End?" he asked. Shango laughed. "Gave it back to House Durrendon." he said. Stannis seemed irritated. Melisandre, the Red Preistess, smiled.

"You should be careful how you tread, because-" she began, but was cut off. "Yes, yes. The night is dark and full of fucking werewolves. Literally." he said dryly. She frowned. "Don't cut her off." Stannis said. Shango promptly put up his middle finger, a blank look on his face. "Fuck off old man. I'll tell the Whore what do you whenever I feel, and you can't stop me. Hell you can't even control your unrelated nephew." he said, and Stannis reared his horse. "Attack!" he called, and Shango smiled. He roared, axe and Arakh drawn, and propelled forward.


	12. The Battle of Winterfell

_Sorry fo da wait. Dis chapter is long, and I mean LOOOOONG. It took days to write. It cooled down here, and I could focus better. If you don't like chapters of this length, stay away from this fic please. Would've been up sooner, but I fucked up and erased the whole thing, and was out nearly 2.8k words. So, without further adieu, my longest chapter ever, clocking in at nearly 11k words. As always, check out my fb page, pools if I have them, and leave a review if need be. And please, no 'holy shit this is way too long. Some people could have made 5, if not ten chapter out of this one. Deal with it. Thank you for your continued support through ridiculous chapters such as this, JIRO_

The battle met with a thunderous crash, sending noise as far south as Harrenhal, and as far east as Meereen. Shango remained in human form, rolling and removing the legs of a horse with his Arakh, watching the rider tumble forward, where a swing of the mighty hammer of Hamar Af Doom finished him. Shango snarled, swinging his axe, denting the armor of the man, knocking him back and slamming a fist into his face, the crunching of bone and spraying of teeth and blood coating the snow. Rolling, his Arakh caught a space in the armor of another soldier, tearing into his chest and felling him. He inhaled deeply, spinning and kicking a horse in the side of the face, a whinny of pain sounding before the animal went tumbling with it's rider attached, the man calling out in shock and pain. He spun, swinging his Arakh and burying into the chest of a soldier. He pulled his spear from his waist, jabbing a man in the chest twice, then placing the spear back in it's holster, he ripped the Arakh from the man's chest. Snarling, he ducked under a swing of blade, spinning and slamming his Arakh into the man's horse. The blade buried itself in the beast's rump, where he tore to the side, rolled, and pulled back. The colon of the animal came out, the animal falling to a slow, painful death.

Shango leapt over the beast's corpse, landing on the chest of the soldier. He spun, ducking under a swing of blade. He swung his axe, catching the man under the arm, stomping forward to come up with his Arakh and going through the soft flesh under a man's head, behind the chin. He sputtered, falling to the ground in a growing pool of crimson liquid when Shango tore the blade out, splitting his chin bone in twain. He spun around a man, who he headbutted, snapping his head back, knocking the man forward, and threw his Arakh in a sidearm fashion, burying it in the chin of a horse. He drew his spear, slashing the throat of a foot soldier, flipping the blade in his grip and repeating. Shoving the man away, he kicked the next man back, the Arakh bearing horse running by franticly. He grabbed the weapon, holding it fast, the horse continuing to run. The horse's throat was cut open, Shango rolling the weapon and removing the animal's leg, the rider flying into a swing from Hamar. He grabbed a man's shirt, tearing it then slamming his head into the man, feeling the crunch of his skull against his own. He wrapped the strip of leather around the handle of his Arakh, knotting it and tying the sickle to his spear, rolling the weapon in his hand. He smiled.

He came up with the Arakh end, tearing the armor from a man's chest, where a flick of his wrist rolled it in his grip, the spear end tearing the man open. He called out, and Shango backhanded him, knocking him to the ground. He brought his leg up, slamming his shifting foot into the chin of a horse. The animal rose into the air, crashing into the ground. Shango stomped forward, swinging across with his axe, cutting the rider down. He ducked under another horse rider, leaning back and standing on his hands, slamming the top of his foot into the man's back. He rolled to his feet, exhaling with a chuckle. He glanced behind him, seeing the rest of his allies deep in the battle. He laughed, spinning and ducking under yet another blade swing. He came up with his Arakh and axe, leaving two gaping wounds on the man's chest. He fell back, and Shango sighed. "Wonder where Stannis is?" he asked. No answer came, but the liger began stalking through the men, searching for Stannis.

Zillah grew more and more irritated with each kill. Holding her blood soaked dagger in hand, she flung it at a soldier. Rolling the chain with her fingers, the blade slammed through the skull of a man, and she yanked it out, rolling and swinging it in a wide arc, the tearing of flesh reaching her pointed ears. She snarled, baring her pearl white teeth, which were slightly sharper than they should have been. She snarled, pulling the dagger back to her. Sheathing the dagger, she cast a spell to make the chain disappear. Vaulting forward, she swung her clawed hands, slashing through the flesh of an unarmored soldier. He called out, and she growled, grabbing him by the temples and twisting, snapping his neck. He fell back dead, and she turned to another man. Slamming her heeled boot into his breast plate, he coughed as the force racked him, injuring his ribs. She rolled around another man, drawing her dagger and slamming it into his throat, and crashing her boot into the injured man. Ribs snapped, and one pierced his lungs, and he fell, bleeding to death from the inside out. She rolled under a horse rider's swing, flipping and landing on the horse's back behind the rider. She leaned against the rider, slamming her blade into the man's head from behind. He fell limp, and she grabbed his sword, knocking him from the horse. Rearing the animal, she rode back into the center of the battle.

She swung, her angular uppercut splitting a man's skull. He fell back, and she flicked the blood from her blade, swinging in a wide arc. A man grunted, falling to the ground and staining the snow with blood. She smiled, spinning the horse around, tugging the reins. The horse kicked it's back legs out, knocking a soldier who came from behind back. Another soldier made it on the back of the horse, and she spun instantly. Smiling, the man hesitated enough for her to strike. She flung the blade, embedding it in the chest of an enemy soldier, then launching her torso forward. She sunk her teeth into the man's exposed throat, and he called out. The immediate vicinity froze in shock, and Shango appeared, tearing through the stunned soldiers and sell swords. She tore back, a piece of the man's flesh between her teeth. She frowned, and the smell of pork began to waft through the area, as she cooked the flesh with magick.

Shango backhanded a soldier, walking over to Zillah. "Really? Flesh eating? Isn't that orcish?" he asked. She snarled, the meat still in her mouth. Shango leaned over, biting the flesh and pulling it from her mouth. She frowned, and he chuckled, exhaling. "So that's what it's like to be an orc. Not so bad I guess. Could use salt though." He mused, and she rolled her eyes. She turned to the battle. "There are way too many. I've expended a lot of energy, more than I should have. A rough estimate gave me at least twenty two thousand, and we had roughly fifteen thousand. It doesn't look good." She said. Shango laughed. "We are fine. We just need to make sure Melisandre and Stannis live long enough to be humiliated." He said, and she snarled. "I want that Red Bitch for myself." She said, her canines increasing in length. Shango sighed. "Alright. Just quit it with the vampiric act. I know you grew up in vampire kingdom, but the teeth and shit isn't really attractive." He said. She frowned. "Oh please. You're smitten with me, vampiric alterations and all." She said, smirking. Shango rolled his eyes. "Tell yourself whatever you want elf." He said, heading back toward the battle. She shouted to him. "I will! I'm right anyway! And you know it Cat!" she called, and Shango waved to her, spinning to kick a horse in the face, the animal falling from the force.

Bran snarled, swinging Moonglade in a wide arc, cleaving a man's stomach open. He fell holding his innards, which still spilled out anyway. He rolled his arm, an acute angled slash tearing the flesh from a man's throat. He dropped, ducking under a slash, coming up with Moonglade, jabbing the arrowhead end into a man's throat. He pulled it out, spinning around his body to jab the two pronged end into another man's chest. He lifted the man up, then flung him across the battlefield, hearing him crash into more people. He backhanded a soldier, bringing his knee up to slam into the shield of the next foe. The man was stunned, and stumbled back. His arms were spread slightly, and Bran jabbed the arrowhead end into his chest. He coughed, blood erupting from his maw. Bran pulled the arrowhead out, rolling his body and jabbing the prongs into the side of a horse's face. The animal grunted before dying, and went tumbling across the field. Bran swung his leg around, slamming into the shield of a man, and he stumbled. Bran was finding it a bit hard to fight at eight feet tall. It just seemed like he was coming down to much.

So, Bran shifted back to human form. Still five and a half feet tall, he was roughly at the same height as his foes. And, Moonglade became more of a lance instead of a giant dagger. He rolled, slamming the two prongs into the leg of a man. He called out, dropping his shield and sword. Two more men came at him, and he tore the weapon from the man's leg, blood spraying. He screamed, falling back clutching his leg. Bran swung the prongs, slicing the face of the first man, changing momentum to jab the arrowhead into the second. Pulling it out, he exhaled. He'd never fought in his human form, and it felt good. He rolled his neck, a few dull pops meeting his ears. He jabbed forward, catching a horse with a glancing blow. The animal's eyes were destroyed, and it began blindly thrashing and bucking, the rider atop thrown off. Bran jabbed the arrowhead end in the flank of the bucking beast. The creature's movements caused the wound to be jagged, and uneven. Bran rolled, twirling the lance in his hands and slamming the two pronged end into the face of the beast, killing it. He chuckled, spinning to jab down at the fallen rider, who tried to come from Bran's blindside.

Bran met up with Arya not long after, coming back to back with his sister's gray fur. "Didn't expect to see you until after the battle." he said, and she chuckled, a cackling sound that came from her jaws. Bran kicked out, feeling the shockwave of his foot against a man's knee. The man's knee gave out, snapping under the force of the therian's kick. He balled his hands, slamming his knuckles against the jaw of his foe. The crackling of bones was felt, and blood sprayed in the snow, teeth following as the man fell. A man wildly charged Bran, and the therian fell back, tripping the man. He rolled, grabbing the man and flipping him over his head. Arya spun, cleaving the man in twain with a sword she'd likely taken from a previous victim. Bran began chuckling, actually enjoying the killing. He swung his fist, striking the blunt side of a sword swung at him. The weapon flew from it's wielders hand, and Bran spun and kicked him in the chest. He stumbled back, and Bran jabbed him in the chest with the arrowhead end of Moonglade. He screamed, falling back. He pulled back, slamming the lance into the ground. He pulled himself up, kicking another foe across the face, knocking him back. Bran felt the crack of bone, signaling that he broke his foe's jaw. He fell back, where Bran pulled Moonglade from the ground and jabbed him in the throat.

Arya swung a blade she scavenged, cutting through the face of a man. Nymeria leapt at another, her signature roll finishing him. Arya cleaved another man's arm off, hearing his pained screams as his face contorted in horror. She kicked him in the chest, seeing him fall back with a disgruntled cry. Blood poured from the wound as he fell back. She spun, coming down and cleaving a man's head in twain, ripping the brain covered blade from his head, spinning to jab a man in the throat. She pulled the bloodied blade out, stepping back to avoid the spray of blood on her gray fur. She ducked and slid back, ending up behind an attacker. She jabbed the blade through him in an upward direction, hearing his pained cry of death as he fell. She spun, swinging the blade to flick the blood of. The blood got into the eyes of yet another warrior, who was dispatched with a jab under the chin. She exhaled, feeling the air exit her expanded lungs. She kicked a warrior with no true force, only making him stumble back, where another jab dispatched him. She inhaled through her muzzle, feeling more air than she ever thought pass into her lungs. She dismissively swung to the side, hacking the chest of a young, foolhardy soldier.

She swung again, cleaving the head from a horse, the rider tumbling away. She jumped onto the rider, burying the blade in his belly. Nymeria leapt at a man who put his shield up, but the dire wolf's force made him stumble, where Arya tossed her blade at him. It rolled through the air, slicing the throat of a charging horse, which went tumbling into the ground in a growing pool of blood. The blade then embedded itself in the man's chest, and he dropped to his knees from the pain. The wolf then leap at him, slamming her head into his. He fell back, where a bite to the face tore his face in pieces, killing him. Arya spun, kicking a horse in the flank. The animal fell off balance, tossing the rider off before continuing to charge in fear. Arya jumped, slamming her feet into the man's chest and crushing it. Turning, she grabbed the man's sword, flipping it into a reverse grip. She came down, the added force cutting through a wooden shield and the arm holding it. She leaned back, kicking the injured man, and he fell back. Rolling, she jabbed a man in the chest. She pulled the blade out, smiling happily. She turned, biting a man in the collarbone. He screamed loudly, irritating her ears. She pulled, tearing his arm off. She chewed the appendage, bone and all, and the jabbed the man in the stomach. Bran appeared, scolding her.

"Will you stop eating people!?" he called, jabbing a man in the chest with the two pronged end of Moonglade. She shook her head, pulling his other arm off. Bran snarled, slicing the throat of a man with the arrowhead end, rolling his body to jab a horse in the throat with the two pronged end. His irritation increased his strength, and he flipped the horse, slamming it and tossing the rider through the air, where Arya caught him and raked a claw across his throat. Arya stood, flipping the blade in her grip and jabbing a man in the chest. He stumbled back, coughing up blood. She kicked him, feeling his ribs breaking as he fell back. She smiled, swinging in a wide arc, taking a man's head straight off. Laughing, she spun and raked her foot claws across the steel shield of a warrior, tearing the weapon to shreds. His shock allowed the arrowhead end of Moonglade to come through his back, and he fell forward when it was removed. "If you are going to eat people, make it quick." he said, spinning and parrying with a soldier, allowing Arya to loop around and remove his head from behind.

The Wolverine smiled, punching a man's shield. The wooden object shattered, and a kick to the face finished him. He brought his knee up, striking the stomach of a man hard, feeling him cough up blood. He grabbed the man by his hair, throwing him against a tree, where he fell limp. A man charged him, sword raised. He clasped his hand around the man's throat, and hoisted him up into the air, then slammed him onto the ground, hearing the snap of bone. He spun, taking two short swords from a foe, and tripping him. He spun, burying both blades in his eyes, and rolling to flip an attacking soldier, who bounced off the blade's pommels, likely breaking ribs. The orc stood, frowning as he looked about. He grabbed an incoming horse, wrenching it's neck as he flipped the animal, the rider flying off. The rider hit the ground, where The Wolverine grabbed his sword and sunk it into his face. He pulled the bloodied blade out, flicking the blood into a horse's eyes. The animal reared up, panicked. He grabbed the animal's rear legs, shoving it onto it's back, crushing the rider underneath. He smiled, baring sharp yellow teeth, a signature among orcs.

He turned, grabbing a horse and headbutting it. His four small horns pierced the animal's skull, coating his forehead in blood as the animal stopped and fell to it's knees. He laughed, biting the animal's face with his sharp teeth. The animal screamed, and the rider leapt off the animal, charging the orc. The orc removed his teeth, and spun. He grabbed the man by the throat, and placed a finger to his green lips. The immediate vicinity froze, and the orc pulled his massive hand back. His palm was open, and he came down, crashing the huge green appendage across the man's chest. He screamed, flinching and falling to the ground, rolling and writhing in pain. A man charged him, leading three more men in his direction. He slammed his fist into the first, the massive green appendage fracturing his skull and removing him from the battle. The second and third were clasped by the throat. The fourth stopped, shocked and in fear. The orc smiled, flexing his thick pectoral muscles, making the man step back. He hoisted the men up high, so high, he thought they'd leaved his hands, and slammed them to the ground. They called out, backs broken and crushed under the force. The fourth tried to run, and the orc followed.

He backhanded another soldier, not losing his prey. He caught the man by the back of the head, lifting him and slamming him face first into the ground. He slammed his thick hand into his tail bone, grabbing the base of his spine and tearing up. His head came off, attached to his spine. The orc swung the spine and head like a flail, slamming into the wooden shield of a soldier. The shield cracked, and the orc's massive fist crashed into the man's helmet. He spun, slamming the head into an armor less soldier, more than likely a sellsword. He smiled, watching the man crumble to the floor. He smiled, chuckling at the carnage he had wrought. He spun, muscles flexing and clenching, dreadlocks billowing in the breeze, and slammed the head into the side of a horse's head. The animal cried out and fell over, the rider flying into a tree, where his head snapped. The orc twirled the bone, ducking under a swing of blade and flinging his arm back, striking his attacker in the back. He fell, where the orc stomped his face. He smiled, pulling the man's arm, breaking it and tearing flesh from his shoulder, which he promptly ate.

Haakon had lost control, irritated by Shango's degradations. He was threatened repeatedly, from losing his place as a company leader in the campaign to Dragonstone, to being threatened as a dragon shit shoveler if he refused to cooperate. He slammed his golden fists down, each blow he unleashed fueled by his rage. He kicked a man, knocking him away, then stomping a horse. The animal screamed, the pain devastating. He grabbed a man and threw him into a tree, hearing his body break under the force. Grabbing another man, he pulled, tearing him in two and becoming coated in blood and organs. He shook, shoving the organs off, and throwing the pieces of the man at his allies. A horse rider avoided it, and swung his blade at the liger. The cat avoided the swing, picking up the broken horse he'd stepped on, and using it like a club and smashing the horse and rider alike. He spun, kicking a woman who began running in fear, and kicking a boiling pot that likely belonged to the company cook, the hot liquid within spilling and coating men, melting and boiling their flesh.

He spun, seeing a small child in the company, likely the dead woman's child. The creature was afraid, and he smiled. The child ran, and Haakon gave a dismissive kick, snapping the child's neck and taking it's breath away. He heard a loud noise, and turned to see Shango. "What the fuck is wrong with you and your brother? Flipping out because I'm in charge. If you hadn't noticed, I'm the eldest, and if we win, the future King of Westeros. So, regardless of the situation, I am your superior. And I commanded you to wreck havoc, not kill children." he said. Haakon snarled, grabbing a soldier and throwing him at Shango, who held his hands behind his back. Shango brought his knee up, kicking the man in the stomach and then in the face, breaking his neck. Haakon threw two soldiers this time, and Shango sighed. Moving with therian speed, he kicked one in the head, the reactive force killing him, and hooking his toes, around the chin of the other, the soft flesh under the chin anchoring his throw like kick. He turned. "Well, this may be the most unusual way I've killed anyone." he said.

Haakon snarled, continuing to throw people and horses at his brother. Shango kicked a man in the face, rolling to flip backward and kick at another man. He was surrounded by bodies, frowning as he leapt to kick a horse with both feet. He propelled himself forward, kicking Haakon across the face, knocking him out. He fell, shifting back to his human form. Shango frowned, turning to Zillah, who was watching with a smirk on her face. "Send him back to Winterfell." He said, and she snapped her fingers. He turned to her after his brother had disappeared. "Let this be lesson for future therians to not follow in the footsteps of Haakon Kidkiller, he who had a chance to shine, but killed a kid instead." he stated, chuckling. She rolled her eyes. "I'll make sure everyone knows. Besides, I can't stand your brother anyway." she said, frowning. He laughed, turning to the rest of the battle. "Shall we?" he asked, holding his hand out to her. She rolled her eyes, slapping his hand. "Might as well. Your brothers are running rampant, or Haakon at least." she said, shaking her head. Shango nodded. "And yet, my sisters are calm as shit." he said, shaking his head.

Vasili grew irritated by his brother's vague messages, his encouragements under threats and scoldings. He remained in his human form, trying to hone his power in each form. He swung his fist at a man, who brought his shield up, and swung his sword. Vasili caught the blade, taking it from the man, flipping it in his grip, and jabbed the man in the temple. He flipped the blade in his grip again, jumping away from a swing of a foe's blade. He swung down, the man bringing his shield up. Vasili used his left leg, kicking the man in the side. He flinched, his grip faltering. Vasili spun, bringing the blade down against the side of his helm, the jarring collision knocking the man down. He rolled around a man, flipping the blade in his grip and jabbing him under the arm and through the collarbone. He leapt up, landing on the back of a horse, jabbing a man in the back, and then shoving his limp body off the horse. He smiled, using his thighs to rear the horse and spin it around, deeper into the fray.

He swung down, cleaving the head from one of his foes, a second swing knocking a man off his feet with a helm jarring crash. A man came from behind, and the horse bucked, his back legs slamming into the man's chest, causing him to fly back. He threw the blade to his other hand, skewering the face of one of his foes. He threw the blade, the rolling weapon burying itself in the back of a man. He leaned back, avoiding a massive greatsword that cleaved his horse's head clean off. He jumped back, seeing a much larger individual from Stannis forces. Vasili smelt therian, and cursed. He charged the man, who grabbed him by his shirt and tossed him. He rolled to his feet, and looked up at the therian, who began shifting. Based off of his thick brown fur, he assumed the man was a bear, but hopefully not a Stormlands Brown Bear, as the beasts were monsters. Vasili began to shift, hoping his size disadvantage wasn't too great.

He was somewhat right. The man was a smaller subspecies, and topped off at twelve feet tall, almost two feet taller than Vasili himself. The man was also broad, and had thicker fur than the felinthrope. Vasili swung his claws, which the bear took in stride, and bore little wounds. He kicked the bear in the knee, and the beast roared, backhanding him across the field. He hit the ground, grunting at the force. He hissed, and heard a chuckle. He looked up, seeing Hamar standing there, hammer in hand. "Get up Cat, and throw me." he said. Vasili snarled as he stood, grabbing the dwarf by the chest and tossing him. "Feel the hammer of Hamar!" he called, avoiding the swing of claw and slamming his hammer into the bear's skull. The beast went down, and he landed on the bear, his half ton of force injuring his ribs. He swung his hammer down, hearing a satisfying crunch from the therian's skull. He turned to Vasili. "That is how you do it." he said, chuckling as he slammed his maul into the side of a horse, causing it to explode from the force.

Cilka smiled, swinging her whip down. It crashed into the back of a man, who screamed in pain as the sharp leather cascaded across his back, opening wounds. She cast her left whip out, feeling it wrap around the leg of a soldier, and tugged, he fell, where a downward swing from her second whip tore his back open. She smiled, pulling the whips away. She spun, casting her right whip out, the added force allowing it to tear a massive gash in the left flank of a charging horse, and overhanded swing from her other whip catching the rider about the waist, where she tugged him off his horse, rolling her hands so her right whip crashed into his face. Ripping both whips away, she smiled, casting each whip out. One caught around he leg of a soldier, and the other round the arm of a second. She brought the whips together, feeling the force of both men flying through the air. They met, the slam of their bodies killing both, and she pulled her whips back. She inhaled, enjoying the battle intensely.

She spun, rolling her body and using a backhanded swing to slice two men open, one in the arm, the other taking a slash across the back. She rolled her body by stepping forward, an upward swing tearing a man's arm open, knocking him off balance and making him stab an ally, the second having his sensitive pectoral muscle torn, making his sword arm useless. Third one however, wasn't so lucky. The whip's force increased, and cleaved his head clean off. She continued to roll and spin, slicing flesh with each swing. She saw a sword flash, tearing through the reenforced leather of one of her whips. She froze, and another man came at her from behind. Her instincts kicked in, and she spun, snarling as she bit the man's throat. He screamed, and blood began to erupt from his wounds, coating her lips and getting in her eyes, mouth and dripping down her chest. She let go, spinning to see the man who ruined her precious whip.

She stomped in his direction, her eyes flashing yellow. He froze, his weapons suddenly becoming too heavy for him. He dropped them, falling to his knees either in shock or fear. She felt her body try to change, and she breathed heavily, resisting. She stood in front of him, and grabbed him by the throat. She exhaled, letting her body morph. She grew, her grip increasing in power and tightness. She heard him call out in pain, and she smiled, her feline teeth sharp and white. She opened her maw, huge in proportion, and bit into the man, tearing his head and shoulders away from the rest of him. She spat his body out, blood dripping down her body, and turned. She picked up her remaining whip, swinging the object and striking a tree. The force tore the being from the ground, crashing down onto friend and foe alike. She spun, the massive reach of her arm and the whip allowing her to strike far away. Instead of torn arms or flanks, the men and horses she stuck lost body parts, the sheer force too much for their mortal frames to hold. She kicked a man, his torso exploding out, his legs hitting the ground before either arm or his head.

Cilka swung her tail, smacking a man in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet. She spun, kicking a horse in it's flank, knocking it off balance, and grabbing the rider in her paws. She threw him into a tree, where the snapping of bone was heard, the mighty tree not budging against the flimsy mortal frame. She kicked a man into the tree, hearing a rib snap, feeling him hit the ground. She swung her whip, catching a horse about the throat, spinning and swinging it like a flail. A man was struck, and he was knocked away. A second brought his shield up, forced back by the force, he lost his footing. A third tried to leap away, but the length of the horse was too much, and he was felled by the beast's mighty rump. She cast the whinnying horse out, and the beast crashed into the steaming pot Haakon knocked over, where the animal screamed in pain as it was burnt, and effectively cooked. Tortima came down from the sky, snapping his lizardine jaws at the horse, who had given up all hope.

Katerina swung in a wide arc, cutting down two men in her range. She spun, arcing the blade downward, the tip burying itself in the skull of a warrior, piercing his shield and helm. She spun, ducking a swing of blade, and brought the scythe up, cleaving him in twain. She kicked out, the lower half of her foe's body falling to the ground, the innards beginning to leak out. She turned slightly, kicking a soldier in the side, knocking him off balance. She swung, cleaving through his skin, muscle, bone and armor to sever his torso from his legs. The upper half fell back, blood erupting from the wound, and leaking out of both halves, creating a slippery pool of thick crimson liquid. She rolled around a horse, cutting the animal off at the knees, the animal crashing into the ground, the rider tumbling off and into the ever growing pool of blood. He tried to stand, but the slippery crimson liquid prevented him from doing so, and he clumsily stumbled about, scrambling to his feet as Katerina lifted the massive scythe above her head, a sick smile on her face. She came down, his final scream silenced by the lavender blade. She spun, the force from her movement making the two stationary halves of the man fall apart, hitting the ground in a wet splash.

She swung, cleaving through the blade of a charging soldier. He stumbled back, barely avoiding the massive blade. He turned, but Katerina stepped forward, coming down. A thick gash was torn down his back, and he fell forward. Katerina swung the scythe, a cascading wave of blood flying off the blade, spattering the snow and trees around her. She spun, cleaving a man in half, hearing the crunch of snow when his body hit the ground. Rolling, she used her momentum to cleave the head of a horse in half, the blood and brain splattering the snow in front of her. She dragged the scythe through the snow, coming up to hook under a shield, tearing it from the wielder's grip. She rolled, a wide arc cleaving her foe's arm off as he tried to flee. She stepped forward, continuing to spin and swing in a wide horizontal arc. She cut through a soldier her prey threw in front of him, but he then tripped. She extended her arms, cleaving his head from his shoulders, the head flying into the sky. Blood began to pour from the body, and the head's eyes were rolled back, and she watched as the head landed in the lap of a horse rider, who screamed, falling off his horse in shock. She came down, the huge tip piercing his chest, silencing him for good.

She pulled the blade from the man's chest, spinning and swinging with increased force. Three men were cleaved in half, and a horse was delivered a gash so deep, she could see the animal's beating heart as it fell to the ground from pain. She stopped suddenly, exhaling as the force came to a halt. She spun the blade again, flicking the blood off. She looked to the rest of the battle, frowning at how many soldiers were still alive, and fighting their forces. It appeared as though they were losing, as more mountain men appeared to have perished in her vicinity, and she cursed. She ran, swinging in wide arcs as she moved, hoping everyone was still okay. She swung up, and cursed as she wedged the blade in a tree. She tried to pull it out, yanking with all of her strength, but it wouldn't budge. She heard a call, and three men came from behind. She spun, pulling her Arakh from her hip and ducking under a swing of blade. She came around, cleaving the head from the first, stomping she leaned forward to avoid a swing from the second, coming up and cleaving his head off. She spun, planting the blade into the heart of the third, snarling as she grabbed the handle of her scythe, and tore it free with renewed strength.

Oksana Phunraz smiled, enjoying the chance to battle again. She held both of her short sword in her hands in a standard grip, the ornate object gleaming in the sunlight. She ducked under a swing of blade, flipping the blade in her hand and jabbing backwards, the blade going through the arm pit and passing through the collarbone to pierce the throat. She tore the blade out, the man falling to his knees before collapsing in the snow. She brought her right blade up, blocking a swing of blade from a foe, using the second blade to tear open his arm, feeling the blade slice into his soft flesh, and becoming coated in blood. He grunted, his posture off, allowing Oksana to pull her blade back and jab him in the throat. She pulled the blade out, spinning both blades to remove the blood from them. She inhaled, smiling softly as she ducked under a swing of blade, rising to one knee to slice through his leather armor with one blade, jabbing the other into his belly, where it pierced his intestines, and traveled up into his left lung, where she removed the weapon. He coughed and sputtered, choking from the inside out, and dropping to the ground.

She twisted her left blade in her hand, holding it in a reverse grip. She spun, feeling a horse charging, seeing the rider atop the steed swing a flail. She ducked, flicking her left wrist and cutting one of the horse's legs off. She stood upright, throwing her right blade like a massive knife and burying it in his back, where he slumped in the saddle. She swung her blade at another soldier, cutting his face lightly before he could raise his shield. He swung his blade at her, and she leaned to the right, tossing the blade to her right hand and jabbing him in the eye. The blade pieced the soft organ, and dug into the brain, where she yanked it out, flicking the residue from the weapon. She walked over, grabbing her second blade, flicking the blood from it. She smiled, turning to see a dozen soldiers surround her. She laughed, finding their human strategy amusing. They all roared, and charged, ten men, ten swords, and only five shields. She smiled, inhaling quickly before moving.

She ducked under two swings, the warriors parrying accidentally. She jabbed upward as she stood, piercing their leather armored chests and trailing up, opening them up to their napes. Blood began to erupt as she pushed them back, blocking a swing from a shield lacking solder. She used her second blade, cutting a shallow wound in his belly to knock him back, parrying with a shield baring soldier. She smiled, pushing herself up and over him, her feet hitting the ground. Her blades trailed with her, slicing through his face and bringing him to the ground. The injured soldier stood, where she flung a blade that embedded itself in his skull, sticking out like a horn as he fell back. Using one blade she faced down the final six soldiers. Two charged, and she scoffed, rolling and swinging in a wide arc, feeling both of their heads hit the ground before their bodies. She parried with one of the final two, kicking the shield of the other. He stumbled back, where a massive blade cleaved him in two. The shock allowed Oksana to jab the final soldier in the face, turning and nodding to Maynhard.

Maynhard slammed his fist into the side of a horse's face, knocking the animal to the ground, where a swing of his massive great sword cleaved the animal and rider in two. He spun, cleaving a tree in twain, watching it fall to the ground and crushing a horse and two other soldiers. He kicked a soldier in the head, hearing the crunch of the snow as his limp body hit the ground. He grabbed a soldier, throwing him across the field. A horse erupted from the bush, Sundari atop the steed. She cleaved the man's head from his shoulders, frowning as she flicked the blood from her Arakh. Maynhard cleaved a man in two, turning to kick a shield, knocking the wielder back, where Sundari swung her Arakh, planting the tip into the back of his head, shredding his head from his shoulders. Maynhard nodded, spinning and cleaving another tree down, hearing the cries of men as they were crushed under the massive being. Sundari brought her horse over the tree, cleaving off the head of a fleeing soldier.

Maynhard frowned. "How many have we lost?" he asked. His wife frowned, shaking her head. "Thousands, by my count." she said. He frowned. "That's not good." he stated, looking to the battlefield. Trees had fallen, and men fought for their lives. The likely trained, honor bound soldiers and sell swords of Stannis had more experience than the mountain men. He didn't want the fifteen thousand men eradicated in one battle, nor did he want to retreat. He cursed. "At this rate, all the therians are going to have to shift and step on everyone." he said jokingly, noting the massive size difference between humans and therians. His wife nodded. "That may be true, but they out number us nearly two to one. Very few of us have the skills needed." she said. Maynhard blinked. "Hopefully I'll figure out what to do soon, or Shango will." he said, holding faith in his eldest child. He hummed. "If Shango defeats Stannis in combat, that may deter the men from fighting." he said. Sundari nodded. "Or it may drive them to frenzy." she said. He cursed.

He swung his blade, cleaving a horse in half at the chest. Spinning, he brought the blade down on the rider, crushing him more than cutting him. Spinning, he came up at a somehow airborne soldier, cleaving him in half. He threw the blade to the left, tearing apart men and horses, watching the blade bury itself in a tree. He punched a soldier in the face, feeling his neck snap. He kicked a shield, knocking the soldier back where a second kick crushed his chest. He swung his elbow, hitting the cheek bone of his foe, making his head snap. He threw the man at his wife, where she cleaved his off. He snarled, exhaling deeper and deeper. He grabbed his blade. He felt his bones pop and crack, his legs morphing. His feet arched, raising up on the balls of his feet, close to his toes. Claws erupted, and a tail erupted from his back. He shook his head, his light mane filling in as he stood erect, all fifteen feet of his body feeling the cold air. He roared, making every man around him flinch in fear, allowing him to stomp a single soldier, sending the rest into panic.

Manoush jabbed her lance, identical to Moonglade in all but color, into the flank of a horse, tearing the animal open. The rider fell off, and she twirled the weapon, jabbing the arrowhead end into the man's face. She pulled it out, twirling it as she spun, swinging the two pronged end in a wide arc, crashing into the shield of an enemy soldier, and knocking him off balance, where a quick twirl of her lance allowed her to jab the arrowhead end through his chest. She pulled the weapon out, twirling it above her head to remove the blood from it. She came down, the arrowhead end her primary weapon, and slashed at a soldier. He brought his shield up, shoving the weapon away, and allowing him to jab at her side. She slammed the two pronged end down, knocking his blade from his grip, and causing him to stumble forward. She caught him by the throat, snarling as she hoisted him up. She threw him directly up, slamming the lance into his chest, watching him slide down the six foot shaft, and off the two pronged end. She pulled the weapon away, dropping it in the snow to clean some of the blood off of it before she clenched it in her grip.

Spinning, she slammed the shaft into the chest of a charging soldier. The force knocked him off his feet, where she stepped on his face, pushing with all of her weight. She stood on one leg, her incredible balance allowing her to fight off a horse rider while she stood on the man's head. She jabbed at the rider, who reared his horse. She flipped the lance, jabbing the two pronged end at the horse, piercing it's chest, knocking it back. The rider slid off, charging her with a spear. She twirled the lance, jabbing the arrowhead at him. He sidestepped, jabbing with his spear. She stepped back, hurling the lance at him. It pierced his chest, forcing him back, where it pinned him to a tree. She took his spear, nodding as she put her hand on the lance. She pulled, but it was wedged in the wood. She cursed, spinning to shove another soldier on the lace, like a human kabob. She snarled, spinning and jabbing at a soldier. He stepped back, and she lunged forward, catching him by the throat, where she threw him onto the lance with his fellow soldiers.

She grabbed her lance and pulled, slightly shifting. Hairs erupted from her arms, and her body increased in size, becoming muscled. She tore the lance from the tree, leaving the three men to crumble onto the ground with holes in their chests. Slamming the lance into the snow, she spun and slid behind a soldier, piercing his back with the spear, breaking the wooden shaft off in his back. She turned, backhanding a soldier, then slamming the broken spear shaft into his chest. He called out, stumbling back, where she kicked the wood, pushing it in further. He dropped, and she jabbed at the soldier right behind him, almost like a line. The soldier swung his blade down, and it became caught between the two prongs, where she twisted it, wrenching it from his grip, the jabbing. The prongs pierced his body, and the friction from his body caused the caught blade to slice into him, leaving a plus shaped wound. She pulled back, grabbing the sword by it's handle before it hit the ground. She came up, slashing him and knocking him back, then jabbing the next man. She shoved the blade in slowly, laughing at the man's anguish. He dropped, and she lunged forward, enjoying each and every kill.

Tzimisce Frostfang smiled, jabbing his frozen spear at a horse rider. The spear hit his shield, and the object began to freeze, and he dropped it, cursing. A second jab pierced his side, knocking him from the horse, who the White Walker kicked in the side, knocking it off the ground and away. He spun, a downward arc from his spear following him, and sliced through the leather armor of a soldier. The armor began to freeze, and the man scrambled to remove it. He failed, and his hands started to freeze. He screamed, the flesh chapping and changing color as the ice crept up his arms, coating his chest and neck. Tzimisce laughed, using the blunt end of his spear to jab the frozen man. His chest exploded and he fell back, torn apart. No blood came out, as the flesh was frozen, preventing blood from flowing. He spun, slicing the cheek of a horse, which began to freeze. The rider leapt off, where Tzimisce impaled him in midair. He laughed, turning to the line of men that stared him down, wary of attacking.

He laughed, seeing the small force attack him. Three standard soldiers, two with shield, and five on horses. He kicked one shield baring soldier, jabbing the first horse rider. The shield barer stood, attacking with a spear. He slammed the blunt end of his spear into his face, knocking him to the ground with a broken neck. He backhanded a second horse rider, knocking him off his horse, which continued to run rampant. The man flipped, roaring as he stood to his feet and charged. Tzimisce reached down, clasping a hand around his throat, and hoisting him into the air. He swung in a wide arc, tearing the chest of the standard soldier open, knocking him into the other, where infected blood began to freeze them. He turned to the man in his hands, and exhaled a soft breath, freezing the man in his grip. He dropped him, shattering his frozen body into pieces. He slammed the spear into the ground, and frozen spears rose up and pierced his remaining foes. He exhaled, his breath freezing as it left his maw.

He swung his leg, kicking a horse in the side, knocking the rider off. He jabbed the rider, a quick strike that left no time for mercy. He spun, swinging his spear and jabbing a shield. IT dented the object, knocking the user back and freezing the object. He cast it down, allowing Tzimisce to slam his frozen fist into the side of his skull, knocking him to the ground, a dark, empty look in his dead eyes. He sighed, raising to his full height. The foe's numbers began to deplete decently. However, the mountain men were even more depleted. He had lost no men, nor had the orcs or dwarves, nor the elves. The Phunraz family was tearing into the foe, that was visible enough. Maynhard and Vasili were in their therian forms, and it appeared one or two of the girls were as well. He sighed, his ancient frame shaking slightly. He lifted a finger, twirling his hand and opening his palm. A wall of ice rose, and he slammed his spear into it, sending sharp shards of ice into the fray, and relishing in the screams of man and beast, cut by his attack.

Fafnir laughed, snapping his draconic jaws at a horse. He bit into the animal's throat, rolling and flipping the animal. It slammed into the ground, it's head coming away from the rest of the animal slightly. He stood, spinning with his wings out. He slashed a soldier with the sharp wing tip, spraying blood across the forest. He flapped his wing, flapping and rising slightly. He spat, the acidic liquid striking a shield. The soldier screamed, discarding the melting object. He flew forward, coming down and raking his claws across the back of a soldier, who stumbled forward with his back arched in pain. He kicked a second soldier who tried to come to his rescue, and spat on both soldiers. They screamed, melting as they thrashed and flailed, their skin melting and molding into their flesh, which also eroded, like a rotten corpse, which they were by time they hit the ground. He laughed, turning to the rest of the men that lived and breathed, intent on rectifying that fact.

He flew about, spewing acidic breath haphazardly. The scent of molten and rotten flesh filled his draconic nostrils, pleasing him greatly. Men scrambled to run away, but failed. He was joined in the sky by Tortima, the storm dragon spewing small lightning bolts, almost granting Fafnir's victims mercy. The dragon screeched, and spat another lightning bolt, scorching the flesh of a horse, then glided down to dine on his kill. He unleashed a massive wave of noxious gases, melting flesh instantly, leaving only ten skeletons in his wake. Men screamed in fear, dropping to their backs, and scrambling away. By time they made it to their feet, he had landed on the ground, and swung his thick claws at the leg of a scrambling solder. He struck, tearing his leg into shreds, leaving the appendage limp, where a glob of acidic saliva began to melt him away. He flipped over the corpse, his sharp wing tips slicing into flesh. A sword came down from his left, and he used his wings as a shield, then slapping his foe with the appendage, following up with acidic spit.

He exhaled, looking about. He shook, flicking blood off his midnight black scales. "This is ridiculous." he said, and he heard a chuckle. He turned to see Hamar standing there. "It's looking good for us. We have a lot left to kill, and have lost around seven thousand mountain men, leaving us outnumbered slightly. I've taken a thousand, and if each of us supernatural beings have taken out at least a hundred, we should be down to only a couple thousand. I think the Cat plans on killing everyone but Stannis and the Red Witch." he said, running his fingers through his beard. Fafnir nodded. "Do you think Winterfell is okay?" he asked. Hamar laughed. "If any of these fools made it to Winterfell, I'm sure Hodor can help out, and Tyrion is there." he said. Fafnir laughed. "He's not even a real dwarf. He's just an inbred cat." he said, and Hamar shook his head. "Power is in everyone. It just comes out at different times." he said. Fafnir roared, unleashing a flesh melting breath. "I guess you are right. I just hope the little man knows it." he said, backhanded a soldier with his wing.

Hamar laughed, slamming his maul into a soldier, caving his chest in. He swung again, hitting a horse in the side of the head, causing it's head to explode. It fell forward, and he came down on the rider, who was scrambling to his feet. He turned, and saw one of the soldiers abandon his weapons and snarl at him. He saw his body contort and change, darkening to a gray color. He laughed, watching the therian foe to shift. He grew over ten feet tall, and stopped at thirteen, though Hamar could be off. He was a lizard lion, and he disliked the name, and the creature. He put his hand out, folding it as he rose a single brow, issuing a challenge. The lizard man roared and charged, stopping and swinging his thick, heavily scaled tail. Hamar jumped over, bringing his hammer down on the knee of the creature. He stepped away, avoiding the dwarf's swing. He laughed, stepping back. He came down with his jaws, and the dwarf stepped away, swinging at the face of the creature. He pulled his head back, avoiding the swing.

The lizard man snarled, swinging his huge claws down at the dwarf. The dwarf put his chest out, and the claws struck his armor, scarring the layered bronze colored material. The claws were chafed, and became slightly blunt. He swung his hammer, striking the elbow indent of the creature's inner arm. It roared, the arm falling limp as the dwarf swung at his legs. He stepped back, but Hamar changed the angle of his swing, striking the sensitive toes of the beast. He roared in pain, stumbling back. Hamar came forward, a second swing taking out his other knee. The creature fell to the ground, where a strike to the back knocked him to the ground. He grunted, and the dwarf climbed on his scaly green back, lifting his hammer above his head. "Feel the hammer of Hamar!" he called, slamming into the skull of the lizard man, hearing a final hissing grunt as the life left the therian's body. He roared, running down the creature's body.

He ran off the tail, placing his maul down. He grabbed the tail of the therian, and grunted as he pulled. His muscles strained, his armor too tight in the chest for him to put in all of his effort. He grabbed the armor, lifting it over his head and dropping it to the ground, leaving his chest bare, coated in glistening and rippling muscles. He grabbed the tail again, and spun, roaring as his body expanded, his muscle increasing in size as he swung the likely two thousand plus pound therian. He crashed into thirteen soldiers and thirty horse riders in two full circles before the dwarf threw him into the center of the fray. The dwarf laughed, flexing his bulging muscle as he picked up his massive hammer. A second lizard lion therian, likely a relative of the first, charged him. He ducked a swing of the tail, and hoisted the creature above his head, slamming it top the ground before leaping atop the beast and smashing it's skull with a mighty swing of his mauling hammer.

Vlad snarled, baring his lengthened fangs. He swung his claws, a soldier backing up and jabbing at him from behind a shield. He avoided the swing, speeding around the man and biting his exposed throat. He screamed, and the vampiric dwarf crunched down, snapping his neck. He let go, spitting the foul tasting blood onto the ground, and spinning to hiss at a horse rider. The horse reared up, in fear of the vampire dwarf. Vlad roared, feeling his body change as his flesh became harder, and more oily, and his claws lengthened. His nose coiled up like a bat's and he roared, feeling wings erupt from his back. He jumped, sinking his entire maw of now sharp teeth into the chest of the horse shoving it back with such speed that the rider had no time to react. The animal thrashed, but Vlad slammed his claws through the animal's chest, clenching it's heart and squeezing it hard, killing the animal. He let the creature go, snarling as he turned to a soldier with no weapons. This one was similar to the one's Hamar just defeated. A therian among men.

He roared at the therian soldier, whose body began to contort. He'd expect a lizard lion, or a bear, maybe even a cat of some sort, but, his foe was a wolf. He was nine feet tall, and Hamar was five feet tall. He roared at the wolf, who roared back. His foes fur was a tawny brown color, similar to the color of Bran's fur, but darker, which suggests that he had bear blood. But that was unlikely, as bears weren't too fond of wolves in the south. His foe charged, and he flapped his wings, avoiding a massive tackle from his foe. He swung his even longer claws at the wolf, digging past his fur into his flesh. The wounds were shallow, and the wolf became angry, spinning and slashing the dwarf's chest. He cursed, the wounds stinging and beginning to bleed. He stumbled back, hitting the ground. He retracted his wings through sheer willpower, but kept his bat like form. He lunged himself at the wolf, who backhanded him into a tree. He cursed, hitting the tree and feeling his back erupt in searing pain. He stood to his feet, exhaling deeply and turning to his foe. He rolled and contorted his body, entering a vampire's most powerful state, the Dragon Bat form. It was no dragon in any aspect, more akin to a therian bat, and came with a surprisingly helpful added effect.

The wolf charged, but stopped halfway, barking and holding his nose. The dragon bat form received it's name from smelling like a dragon's meal, cooked by noxious smelling flames. It smelt horrible, and beings with sensitive noses, like therian bears and wolves, were heavily affected. The wolf stumbled back, allowing Vlad to leap onto his back and bite the top of his skull, causing the wolf to thrash and flail about. He slammed into a tree, causing the vampire to grunt, but remain unflinching in his attack. He repeated, and the dwarf heard a rib snap as he exhaled heavily. He dug his claws deep into his shoulder, the sharp appendages now nearly a foot long, along with the dwarf's increased height of seven feet. He pulled back, taking the wolf with him as he crashed into the ground, his hold broken. The wolf fell limp, the smell and pain from the heavy bite and foot long claws devastating, as the angled claws dug into his chest, passing through his ribcage to his organs. The vampire dwarf stood, his form changing back, and roared his victory.

The battle was over, and Shango and Zillah stood across from Stannis and Melisandre. The mountain men had retreated, and House Phunraz's allies had finished the job, allowing for a quick, merciless battle. Shango sighed, wielding his spear, examining the short shaft, and large, broad blade. Stannis frowned, holding his longsword in two hands, coated in the blood of mountain men. He panted, the lengthy, gory battle taking it's toll on him, and yet, Melisandre appeared unfazed, as did her foes. Stannis frowned, noticing how many of his foes remained. Shango took notice as well. "Remain still. This is between us four and no one else. You will be punished heavily if you interfere." he said, clearing his conscious and looking to Stannis. "Now, can we begin?" he asked, eyes half lidded. Stannis frowned, charging forward and rising his blade. Shango ducked underneath, swinging underneath Stannis's arm. The swing left no wound, visible or not. Stannis frowned, spinning and swinging at Shango, who leaned away. He laughed.

"You know, I don't consider this a real battle. You look like hell, and you've been through hours of battle without rest. This is almost too easy." he said, trying to irritate and anger Stannis. The man swung angrily, the force impressive, but not enough. Shango had ducked under, swinging again. Another wound less swing, and yet, Shango held a smile on his face. He sighed and turned, no blood on the blade, no blood on Stannis. He swung down, and Shango spun around to Stannis' other side, unleashing two slashes that left no wounds. The warrior cursed, and moved to attack, but his chest plate fell off. He stopped, hesitating in shock, and Shango closed in. Shango buried the spear tip into his belly, causing him to cry out. He pulled it out, sliding it back in and removing it. He stabbed thrice more, and than thrice more after that. Stannis hit the ground as Shango repeatedly stabbed him. Shango pulled the blood soaked spear from his chest, flicking the blood off as he looked to the deceased Lord of Dragonstone. "Don't worry Stannis, I'll take care of your family. In fact, your wife will be buried right next to you after we kill her." he said, chuckling. He turned to watch Zillah battle Melisandre, making sure to stay a reasonable distance, for safety purposes.

The elf stared down the Shadow binder, disliking every red hair on her head, and every red piece of cloth on her body. "What's wrong? You appear disgruntled." she said, and Zillah snarled. "sorry. Being raised in Ulthos doesn't bode well for my opinion on Shadow binders." she said, and Melisandre laughed. Zillah frowned. "You might want to hold your laughter for later, if there is a later for you." she said, baring her fangs. Melisandre seemed slightly nervous. "I am unsure of why Ulthos natives would raise an elf, much less one of your kind, but it matters not. All that matters is that-" she said, but was cut off. "Stannis is dead!" Shango shouted, using the spear to point to Stannis' body. "Stabbed him a hundred and twenty seven times for good measure too!" he called, and the witch took a step back. Zillah laughed, and she turned, and shot a fireball from her hands. Zillah brought up a wall of snow, and it dissipated into steam.

Melisandre used a wave of heat to push the steam away. She shot another ball of flame, which Zillah moved away from. Melisandre brought her arm up, and a Shadow Assassin came from behind. She drew her dagger, rolling around and slamming it in the apparitions back. She pulled it out, cleaving it's head off, her blade glowing a sick purple color. She laughed, and Melisandre stepped back. She flung the dagger, the chain appearing as if by magick, and Melisandre brought up a wall of flame to block it. Zillah brought the dagger back, smiling as she lifted her hand, a vine erupting from the ground and catching the Red Witch by the leg. She struggled to move, and shot a small ball of flame at the vine, melting the plant. When she turned, Zillah was there, in her face, golden eyes and sharp fangs gleaming in the light. Zillah brought her clawed hands up, digging them into Melisandre's forehead, and pulled down, tearing the skin from her entire body, pulling it back like a blanket of flesh, and smiling wickedly.

Back in Winterfell, a soldier of Stannis' company had arrived, off to unleash hell upon the cold capital. A farmer yelled, alerting the capital to his presence, and he cursed, slicing the man's throat with his blade. He spun, cutting down a merchant who moved for a dagger. He laughed, and turned to see a small boy standing alone, looking feral. He was wary, but moved to silence the child. He heard rumbling, and turned to the stables. He frowned, and saw something move. He froze, and the stable doors erupted open, a massive horse coming out. It was a Clydesdale, but it had no head or neck. Instead, it held a man's torso, thick with muscle, and long brown hair, and bearing a massive spear of thick proportions. He slammed the spear into the soldier's chest, blood erupting everywhere, and pinned him to the wall. He exhaled through his nostrils, sounding more akin to a horse than man. Shango arrived, and looked at the centaur's handy work. "Not bad Norihc, not bad." he said, nodding in approval.


End file.
